


A Song of Ice And Music

by paupotter_4869



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Crossover, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Found Family, Guaranteed happy ending, Happy Ending, I promise, Idiots in Love, Lots of Music, Music, Slow Burn, Sort Of, an original dick being an asshole who at some point grows out of it, and singing, because why not, governess, not sure how slow yet but things are moving slow, relationship definitely hurtling toward something, they're not too sure if they like feelings or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 227,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: Brienne Tarth is hired as the new governess for the seven children of Mr. Lannister. She's going to spend the next four months in the Lannister's mansion in Salzburg, Austria. She soon finds out she doesn't exactly fit in the Lannister's standards, and that Mr. Lannister himself is kind of a pain in the ass, but decides to stay anyway and do her best, because that's who Brienne Tarth is.My favorite things involve: "The Sound of Music" movie and Braime from GoT, so what better way to put it all together than in an AU/crossover? If there was a way to include music in a fanfic, I would.EDIT: changed the work's tags because I didn't really know where I was getting myself into until I was right in the middle of it. Major Character Death but I promise, guarantee you, the story DOES have a happy ending. Just warning in advance in case this isn't your cup of tea and would rather skip the story altogether.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Sound of Music is the legendary 1965 movie starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. If you haven't watched it, I strongly recommend it to you, but you don't need to know it in order to follow my work!
> 
> Main story based on the film (you will find some dialogues literally extracted from the movie, and scenes described frame-by-frame from the movie), but for plot reasons I'll have to derail from the main theme oftentimes.
> 
> Also, albeit Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth do fit into the characters of Captain Von Trapp and Fräulein Maria, the characterizations of the protagonists do resemble more the original Sound of Music plot and characters than Game of Thrones, so if you're here as a GoT fan, some parts and interactions might not feel completely rational and fitting for you. Just a word of advice !
> 
> All credit to Robert Wise, Ernest Lehman, and George R. R. Martin
> 
> Hope you enjoy it !! 

Oh, seven Hells! Was the driver out of his mind or did he just want to get a good laugh at her expense? 

He’d promised it couldn’t be more than a fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to the Mansion, but she’s been walking for almost half an hour now without reaching the damn house. Unless the driver pointed her towards the wrong direction, which means that if she ever meets him again, she’ll kill him. 

She’s late. Incredibly late. 

Ten minutes, one hour, it doesn’t matter, it’s just too damn hot in the early days of June carrying her travel bag under the relentless sun. She can feel the sweat dripping from her forehead, armpits, back and literally everywhere in her body, making her cotton summer dress stick to her skin. Also, after descending the bus she tried to run for a while to make up her wasted time, but after a few minutes of jogging uphill she had to stop to catch her breath, and her ragged breathing and blushed face haven’t improved since then. 

All in all, it’s not the pristine first impression she wanted to give on her first day of the job. 

She probably could have found anything else, especially back at Vienna, seizing the tourism peak of the summer holidays. At a café, at a hotel, maybe even as a tourist guide, as appalling as working towards the public would have been for her. But none of the other options paid as much as this one in under four months--and damn, she needs the money. She needs to save as much as humanly possible and with those wages, there was no way she could turn this offer down, even if her seven predecessors had all quit within a month. Even if it was halfway across the country, away from her family for months. It’ll have to be worth it. 

She stops, her bag dropping to the floor, out of breath again. But now her shock is not a cause for the temperature or the exertion or the fury. Well, apparently she’s managed to find the mansion in question. 

Beyond the intimidating iron fence, there’s a four-stories mansion painted with the softest of auburn colors and red terrace. According to the research she did on Google Maps, there’s a gigantic garden at the other side of the mansion, reaching the lake. It’s a fair estimate the family will also own boats and ships to sail on their weekends, of course. 

Everything in front of her screams ‘Help!’ She doesn’t fit in here, she never will, this is a whole new level, the job is just too much for her. Why was she even chosen? Did no one see her picture on the resumé, her lack of experience? 

She shouldn’t have come. 

But she can’t back down before trying. It’s not for her, she tells herself again--she must stop worrying and working herself up before she turns back home. She’s not here to make any friends but to do a job. She’ll be firm and kind, she’ll impress those children as well as their father, she’ll be there to hold their hands and let them come to her with their problems, they’ll end up looking up to her just as much as Pod does every day. That’s all that counts. 

_Remember--you must have confidence in confidence alone. _Her father’s words, which he so often used to tell her when she was a child, come back at her in her moments of doubts. 

“And I have confidence in me,” she ends, nodding. 

Taking a deep intake of breath, Brienne opens the iron fence, crosses the entrance garden by going around the roundabout of perfectly trimmed bushes and, when she reaches the front gate, rings the bell. 

Her heart beats in her ribcage as slowly as the twenty seconds that pass by while she waits, patting nervously on the floor. Then, an older man opens the door, wearing a black apron over his black vest and tie, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. 

“Morning, I’m Brienne Tarth,” Brienne says, a bit out of breath still. 

“And I’m Franz, the old butler,” the man greets, bowing only slightly as he gets a good measure of her. She’s probably a foot taller than the butler, but then again she’s usually taller than most men she meets. 

“I’m here for the governess post,” she insists, as Franz hasn’t invited her in yet. 

“Yes, I know,” he says then, opening the second marble door to let her in. 

Brienne takes her bag from the floor and steps inside, her mouth hanging open upon the gigantic house that receives her, the open-space first floor decorated with a crystal chandelier to shed beams of every specter of light to every corner of the hall. 

“Wait here, please,” the butler commands, leaving towards one door to her left. 

Brienne nods in response, not that she’d be able to move a finger or take a step. She’s broken a sweat again despite the cool temperature of the air conditioning, and she’d be afraid to touch anything. 

_No, I definitely don’t belong here, _she wants to scowl. _Why was I chosen? There must have been hundreds of candidates, everyone more experienced than me._

A set of steps approaches from the room to her left and she spins, trying to swallow back an involuntary squeal. She’s heard a lot of rumors and done her due research after she applied for the job and got through her interview. First child to the Lannister family and heir to the Lannister empire, he enlisted in the military against his family’s wishes. He was injured in battle and conflicting articles claim that he was still dishonorably discharged from duty. Widowed, father of five biological children and adoptive father of two more, he accepted his role in his Father’s business and has done remarkably well--if by that one means he’s followed his father’s path of ruthlessness and choking other businesses merely for personal gain. 

She’s read a lot and she thought she knew what to expect from Mr. Lannister, but the man who appears from the corner bears no resemblance to the pictures she could find. He tries to stay as much as humanly possible out of the media’s radar--the main reason why Brienne couldn’t find any pictures on the Internet about his children--and Mr. Lannister no longer sports the looks he once had in the military. The clean-shaven man now sports a long hair over his shoulders and a carefully trimmed beard. He’s also wearing a three-piece dark grey suit with a black tie, all perfectly polished and ironed, making Brienne feel even more out of place by the minute. 

Mr. Lannister’s looking down on some papers on his hands, making the strands of hair fall before his face and eyes. He stops walking five feet before Brienne and remains silent for some long seconds. She can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of a test, a second interview or something. Henceforth, she tries her best to keep quiet, not to wiggle or play with the bag in her hands and, above all, not to stare at that hand--she’s heard the rumors. 

“You’re late.” 

Focused as she was on looking as professional as possible, it takes Brienne a second to realize Mr. Lannister had spoken to her. 

“I know, sir, and I’m so sorry. I got the bus schedules mixed up and then the bus driver dropped me off farther than--” she’s going off into a rant none of them wished to be witnesses of, which Mr. Lannister proves by finally raising his eyes at her. That cold and at the same time superior expression compels her to shut up. She looks down at her feet as she gives him the straight answer he was waiting for. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” 

“You will be so kind as to remember that schedules are to be strictly observed in this household. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, bedtime, all of it. I don’t ever approve of laziness and tardiness.” 

“Yes, sir,” Brienne manages to utter. 

“Turn around.” 

Shocked, she looks up at him, at a loss for words. Mr. Lannister just tilts his head, as if daring her to defy him or play dumb--looking for an excuse to fire her already. But she won’t give him the satisfaction and obliges. 

Keeping her arms by her sides, she closes her eyes. She can literally feel Mr. Lannister’s eyes on her body and knows what he’s seeing: a too masculine woman taller than Mr. Lannister himself, wearing a simple cotton blue dress that doesn’t even match the butler’s dress code, sporting a horrible haircut she got yesterday per her father’s orders, more muscular than the vast majority of women she knows--and men too. Plus, she’s fully aware that the sweat has stained the dress on her back and the armpits. She’s exactly the opposite of the governess Mr. Lannister was looking for. 

The smug expression on his face, when she turns around, is proof enough, and she bites her lower lip to refrain from saying something that’ll get her fired before she starts her official first day at the house. He’s having a bet with himself concerning how long she will stay--and only if to erase that smirk off his lips, she’s going to do better than her best in order to teach those kids some damn manners. 

When she faces Mr. Lannister again, she dares to lock eyes with him for the first time. Those blue, deep, cold, hard eyes that seem to hide a million secrets, a billion thoughts, all to be discovered if one were brave enough to speak up and ask. 

_What in the seven hells are you thinking? _she chastises herself, feeling her cheeks blushing under his stare--and is certain Mr. Lannister noticed that too. 

“Unfortunately, due to your tardiness, you don’t have the luxury to be brought up to speed with the mansion plans, the grounds, and the household’s schedules. The children will be back in fifteen minutes. Do your best to try and look a little bit more presentable before you meet them.” 

“Mr. Lannister--” she tries to argue, but he speaks again. 

“This is for you,” he says, offering her a folder, and Brienne is suddenly distracted by the prosthetic hand coming out of his other arm’s sleeve. “As agreed by your contract, you’ll enjoy a free day--” 

“Every second Saturday of the month,” she supplies when Mr. Lannister draws blank. 

“That’s right,” he nods, but he couldn’t look any less interested if he tried. “Now, I don’t suppose you’ll have any doubts about the runnings of the household and the children’s schedules, but if need be, you may consult Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper. 

“That will be all.” 

Dismissing her, Mr. Lannister returns to the other folder he was reading when she first saw him and walks right past her towards the stairs. He’s halfway to the second floor already by the time Brienne can come up with anything to say, and when she turns around, a door slams shut. 

Brienne just stands there, dumbfounded and uncertain of what she’s supposed to do next, for some embarrassing long moments. And then, an old woman with her white hair pulled up in a bun appears from another door--Brienne really needs to inspect the house to know which room is where. 

“Fräulein Brienne, I’m Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper,” the woman greets. 

“Oh. How do you do,” Brienne manages to say, briefly and weakly shaking her hand--glad to put a face on the one person she’s supposed to count on for the million doubts running through her mind right now. Of course, a lot of them have to do with her self-esteem and insecurities, so she better not start with those. 

“I’ll take your bags to your room,” says Frau Schmidt, bending to grab Brienne’s travel bag. 

Brienne takes care of her guitar and follows her up the stairs. “Pardon me, but Mr. Lannister--?” 

“He usually spends his days at his office, back into the city,” the woman answers. “You won’t see him much--he leaves long before the children awake in the morning and returns hours past their curfew. Today’s a rare exception, for he wanted to meet you personally.”

_He really wasn’t so keen on speaking to me, _Brienne would like to scowl, but bites her lip hard, almost trying to pour out blood. She better not alienate the one person who’s shown her a little bit of kindness. Albeit she does feel better knowing she won’t cross paths with Mr. Lannister very often, limiting her chances of embarrassing herself in front of her boss yet again. 

It all vanishes from her mind as they reach the second floor, carpeted with delicate rugs, decorated with paintings and marble busts. She’s still trying to take it all in when the housekeeper opens the door to her supposedly chambers. The bedroom she’s been assigned is almost three times her own bedroom, without mentioning the adjacent bathroom. 

Frau Schmidt lays her bag on the bed and unzips it. Brienne’s about to stop her when the housekeeper takes a look out of the window and addresses her a pitying smile. 

“You’ll have time to unpack later, Fräulein Brienne, now you better get downstairs.” 

Brienne looks through the window and sees a black limousine pulling up to the Mansion, the driver stepping outside to open the iron gates. Brienne doesn’t even have the time to change into something more ‘appropriate’, as Mr. Lannister put it, but she’s fine with that. If they wanted a pristine high-class governess, they shouldn’t have picked her out for the job. 

She reaches the ground floor just as the seven children--five boys and two girls--cross through the front entrance, in a silence that should be inconceivable in a group of six children ranging five to fifteen. Carrying their schoolbags, their uniforms look perfect and pristine. Not a stain, almost without a wrinkle. Including the smaller children. What in the world do they do at school? She usually returned home from school filthy with mud and dust, her hair a mess, sporting a new injury and bruise somewhere, and so does Podrick, to her dismay. 

“Hello,” she whispers as a greeting. They all turn and look at her, confusion in all fourteen eyes that pierce her. Just as their father did a few minutes ago, they look at her from head to toes with patronizing and analytical eyes. 

_Perfect. I only needed a bunch of teenagers’ criticism to make my day, _Brienne scowls internally. 

“I’m Brienne Tarth,” she says instead. “Your new governess.” 

“Perfect,” scowls the smaller girl, auburn hair, mirroring Brienne’s thoughts. “Is Father never going to give up?” 

“Hey, stop it,” the older girl chastises her. 

“Why don’t we start by you telling me your names and how old you are?” suggests Brienne with a nervous chuckle--this isn’t either the perfect first impression she was looking forward to. 

“Of course,” says the older girl, still holding onto her sibling as if she needed to physically retain her for some reason. “I’m Sansa. I’m fourteen. This here is Arya, she’s nine. These are. . .” 

“Jon and Robb--I’m fifteen, he’s sixteen,” says one of the older boys, surprising Brienne with his manners upon bowing his head politely at her. Brienne raises an eyebrow at the two brothers. They’ve both got curly black hair, the hint of stubble on their jaws, dark eyes. Then again, they might not be identical twins. 

“Next there’s Rickon, seven-years-old--” proceeds Sansa. 

“Hey, I’ll be eight on the 24th!” complains Rick, glaring at his sibling. 

“Henceforth, you’re still seven,” explains Arya. 

“Wow, congratulations! Eight years, that’s a hell of a number,” says Brienne, kneeling in front of little Rick. “And have you made a gift list already? What can I get you?” 

The look the little boy addresses her is completely out of place for a six-year-old. Brienne can immediately tell the poor lad’s been on the receiving end of that same shocked and disturbed stare from his father a bunch of times before. It’s almost as if Rickon didn’t believe she were a human being as well. 

“Gift lists are stupid and childish,” he states. 

Who in the world told them that? Brienne has a hard time swallowing those words and instead of engaging a conversation that’d lead them nowhere, she clears her throat and looks up at the rest of the children. Sansa spares her from further embarrassment. 

“This is Bran--five. Then we have Gendry, he’s ten,” she proceeds. 

Brienne’s heart skips a beat, her polite smile frozen on her lips, unable to say anything until it’s too late and the silence lingers uncomfortably. She thought she was prepared for the eventuality if it ever happened, but she clearly wasn’t. Albeit they look nothing alike, they are the same age. . . And that alone is enough to make her terribly homesick. 

“Very nice to meet you all,” she manages to say after a minute or so. 

Frau Schmidt reappears then, almost as if she’d been summoned just for the theatrics of saving them all. She claps a few times, headed for the other end of the hall, never turning around to check if the kids are following her--just assuming that they are. They seem to know the drill, for they start walking after her. Brienne, not knowing what else she’s supposed to do, follows suit as well. 

“Come on, children, time for your walk. Father’s orders. Come on, off you go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out in their walk, Brienne tries to have a heart-to-heart talk with the children. The idea kind of backfires.

Whatever awkwardness and nervousness she was feeling because of her meeting with Mr. Lannister and then his children, it’s all drifted away out here in the open. The wind seems willing to blow away her worries, the sun shines bright enough for her energies to recharge, the waves of the lake at their left reminds her of the soothing bath she can take afterwards, back in her room, after the day’s duties are done. 

It’s so freeing, it’s so relaxing, she’s been breathing better ever since they’ve left the mansion, her steps longer, more confident. Robb, Jon, and Sansa soon enough pick up the pace and so Brienne falls behind with the pace little Bran and Rickon are comfortable with, since Arya and Gendry just leave their separate way too. 

She cannot truly understand the Lannister children. None of them have changed into regular clothes, they’re all wearing their school uniforms still, and their purpose of getting out of the house was. . . Just a stroll. Nothing else. 

Whereas Brienne’s heart feels about to explode out of happiness and joy. To beat like the wings of the birds that rise from the lake to the trees, or even to sigh like a chime that flies from a church on a breeze. The sky is so blue, and everything is so green and fragrant, she feels as if she needed to be a part of it all--like the mountains once upon a time, her father took her to on the weekends. If she had these grounds available any time, they’d find her running up the hills, picking up flowers, rolling downhill, playing hide and seek or football, yelling at the top of her lungs, singing with her toneless and arrhythmic voice. . . 

But they seem oblivious to the precious nature that surrounds them, they keep their heads and voices low, with the simple enough goal of fulfilling their minutes of walking. Damn it, even if she’s not a small kid anymore, she’s tempted to do all of the above just to crack a smile into those serious façades. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she sighs in the end. She keeps looking all around her, taking it all in--the trees, the birds, the lake, the grounds, the stables down there. . . It’s an amazing place. 

“Father always says this is our kingdom,” Rickon supplies, not that Brienne was expecting any of them to say anything. She’s more conflicted about them calling Mr. Lannister ‘father’, instead of a more informal and warm title. 

“Well, it sure is a beautiful kingdom.” 

“I’m not sure I understand what Father means,” confesses Rickon. Brienne figures it’s not truly her place to explain and so they remain quiet. 

Try as she might, she cannot get Bran or Rickon to say more than two words together, and so she just quits trying--there’s still time, she tells herself. They all avoid her for the main part, keeping to themselves. Brienne understands they’re all tired of being taken care of by governess after governess and, given the meeting with Mr. Lannister earlier, she’s uncertain of how much quality time the children get to spend with their father. It surprises her, however. She knows being a parent is a mixture between wanting to hug their kids and wanting to strangle them, but still, the former usually wins. With Mr. Lannister, she’s dubious he gets to spend enough time with his seven children for any of those emotions to spring up. 

She spends the majority of the walk looking assessing the children and trying to get a good measure out of them, truly. That’s how she realizes, after fifteen minutes or so, that Jon’s limping a bit. 

“Jon!” she yells, making the whole entourage freeze and turn around. The two older siblings share one look and then Jon takes a step back, confirming Brienne that she’s got his full attention. “Were you injured?” 

The lad looks down on his foot, confusion in his eyes. Surprised to see his foot where it should be, or for Brienne to notice his limping. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Brienne insists, closer now. 

“I fell earlier at practice, that’s all.” 

“Should we go back home and have you lie down for a bit before dinner?” 

“Father wouldn’t like that--we’re not supposed to be back home for another forty minutes,” Sansa pipes in, sounding truly terrified. Brienne doesn’t have time to analyze all that, for she’s still worried over Jon. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“It’s OK, fräulein Brienne, really,” he nods, giving her a reassuring smile. It vanishes all too soon, making Brienne ponder if he’s not just lying for her or maybe his own sake, but he and Robb resume their walk and Brienne can’t find it in herself to stop them. 

At the agreed time, they turn around and head back towards the Mansion. Minutes later, Brandon, perhaps out of exhaustion, grabs Brienne’s hand nonchalantly. She makes no comment whatsoever and they keep on walking, following Jon, Sansa, and Robb on the lead, Arya and Gendry walking alone at a distance. 

Without truly thinking what she’s doing, Brienne swings Bran, holding him in the air a few seconds--that’s what she does with Podrick every time they’re out for a walk. He seems confused at first, but after some seconds he asks her to do it again, and again, and soon enough he’s cracking the first genuine smile Brienne’s heard from any of the children so far. Her shoulder might ache a bit later, but Bran’s smile makes it worth it. 

On their way back to the house Brienne’s eyes fall upon a gazebo with crystal walls that she had not seen before--maybe she was just too dazzled for her brain to sink in all the visual information it was receiving. She’s still holding to Bran’s hand and Rickon follows suit, but she needs to call out for Arya, Gendry, Robb, Sansa, and Jon to walk back. 

In there, they all stand tall, heads held high, backs arched. This is clearly a formal standing position either their school or Mr. Lannister has engraved into their brains, and Brienne sighs quietly, not knowing how to snap them out of it. She’s this close to saying ‘at ease’ as if they were in the military, because it does seem as if Mr. Lannister has tried to keep them in check by being as strict as a captain or CO from the military, but she’s dubious it’d have the proper effect. 

“Don’t you want to sit down?” she suggests, waving over to the wood benches behind them. 

No one moves, and Brienne lets it go, this once. 

“What are we doing here?” demands Arya. 

“What do you want?” presses Sansa. 

“I have to tell you a secret,” confesses Brienne, hiding her shaky hands behind her back. “I’ve never been a governess.” 

The statement is met with stunned silence by the seven children. 

“You mean you don’t know anything about being a governess?” asks Gendry. 

“Nothing. I’ll need lots of advice.” 

_I never should have said anything_, she scowls internally. The minute those words are out of her mouth, Brienne realizes the big mistake she’s made. The children exchange smug looks and knowing grins amongst themselves as they approach her. Oh, she’s in trouble. She thought honesty could be the key to open the door to their hearts, but perhaps she was wrong. Or just too early for such techniques. 

“The best way to start is to tell Father to mind his own business,” says Gendry. 

“Never come to dinner on time,” is Robb’s input. 

“Never eat your soup quietly,” Arya proceeds, and Gendry proves her point by loudly mimicking a rude sipping sound. 

“Wake Father up at 6 o’clock by blasting music as loud as it gets!” provides Sansa then. 

“During dessert, always blow your nose,” suggests Jon. 

“Don’t you believe a word they say, Fräulein Brienne!” Brandon pipes in. 

With all the kids surrounding her and offering implausible suggestions to make sure she’s sacked within twenty-four hours, Brandon's high-pitched voice raises in her defense. 

“Oh, why not?” Brienne asks. 

“Because I like you!” Brandon says, a statement that gets a lot of eyes-rolling. 

“Well, thank you,” says Brienne, smiling fondly at the kid. “I like you a lot, too.” 

“Crap, we should go,” scowls Jon, taking a look at his watch. “We need to change before dinner.” 

That sentence gets everyone moving: Arya, Gendry, Rickon, Sansa, and Robb leave the gazebo hurriedly, without a goodbye note to Brienne. Finally moving from their blockage of the only entrance to the gazebo, Brienne breathes better now--until Sansa stops and spins, eyeing her carefully, and Brienne knows she needs to embrace herself for whatever the girl’s about to say. 

“You _are_ going to change for dinner, aren’t you?” she asks. 

Brienne fights the roll of eyes and tries her best not to sound too mad or condescending. “Yes, I will, Sansa,” she nods. Albeit there’s nothing in her suitcase that’d fit the Lannister’s standards, she fears. “I’ll see you later.” 

All alone with Brandon now, she addresses him a warm smile. He doesn’t answer to it, but she’s not too disappointed--she hadn’t expected him to. 

“What’s that in your pocket?” he asks. 

Now that he mentions it, something is going on with her dress’ pocket--it’s been wiggling a bit for a while. Brienne puts her hand inside the pocket but throws it out as soon as she touches something slimy and very much alive. Upon seeing a toad jump out of her hand and land neatly on the floor, she can’t keep quiet and shrieks loudly, jumping onto one of the benches before she can control her reaction. She’s out of breath by the time the toad hops out of the gazebo and Brienne looks back at Brandon in terror, gasping for air. 

At least he was the only witness to. . . No, correction: all the other children have witnessed her reaction as well, out in the gardens, and are roaring with laughter out there. Brienne feels herself blushing as she steps off the bench and addresses Brandon a stern look. No words come out of her mouth to tell him off for the prank, however--he looks appropriately sorry. Part of her wonders if he mentioned the toad in her pocket now as to spare her further embarrassment from such a reaction in front of Mr. Lannister. 

“One more thing,” Brandon whispers, staring out of the gazebo to make sure none of his siblings can hear him. They’re finally settling down and making their way back to the mansion, “Jon and Robb lied to you earlier. That’s Jon and that’s Robb.” 

Brienne looks back at the two older boys, their backs facing her now. So the one who was limping was Jon, and the one who suggested her being late for dinner was Robb. She’ll have to think of a way to get back at them. Pondering all the possibilities, she smiles--and lost in thought, she doesn’t even realize the moment Brandon has run off towards his siblings. 

Yes, if nothing--or _no one_\--else, she likes that boy. 

Sighing deeply, Brienne gives them a fair start to the mansion. After all, her official first day working as a governess for the Lannister children is tomorrow, so she hopes the children will make it back to the house, change and attend dinner without her help. 

Back at the mansion, she meets Frau Schmidt again, turning on some lights of the ballrooms and entrance. The housekeeper shuts the glass doors behind Brienne, for a slight breeze was beginning to raise, and draws the curtains. 

“Poor little dears,” Brienne can’t stop herself from uttering as the housekeeper shows her the way back. “They really don’t seem that happy on the edge of summer holidays, do they?” 

Something in the way the older woman keeps quiet and avoids her eye tells Brienne she just struck a nerve of sorts without really meaning to. 

“When do they play?” she finds herself asking. 

“The Lannister children don’t play--they march,” replies Frau Schmidt. 

“Certainly you don’t approve of that,” scowls Brienne, but the housekeeper simply shrugs at her, as if she didn’t have an opinion on the matter. 

“Ever since Mr. Lannister lost his poor wife three years ago, he runs the house as if he was still in the military,” the woman explains, not that Brienne considers it an explanation at all for the behavior she’s seen amongst the family members so far. “Whistles, orders. . . No more music, no more laughter. Nothing that reminds him of her. Even the children.” 

“But that’s so wrong,” complains Brienne. 

“Oh, well,” Frau Schmidt shrugs again, stopping by the stairs. “You’re a little late from your walk, Fräulein, so I suggest you go change for dinner, lest you be late to that too.” 

Brienne stops herself from rolling her eyes at the housekeeper, another one to mention her overall tardiness--seems to be her theme today. Instead, she gives her a fake smile, trying her best not to be cross at any members of the household for the time being. 

“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you later, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Lannisters !

Gasping in frustration, she checks all the items on her bag one more time, as if hoping a magic fairy could show up and produce a perfectly fitting night dress for dinner with the Lannisters. 

Unfortunately, a spoonful of sugar does not make the medicine go down, and everything she’s brought with her will look ordinary and pale in comparison to the magnificent dresses and suits the Lannister children and their Father will wear. Brienne tried opening the windows to get some air and cool down, but then the thunderstorm came and she had to shut them all, lest all the room got soaked, and now she’s sweating and panicking all over again. 

In the end, she has to settle for a grey long-sleeve dress, that she bought so she could hide her big figure, but does nothing of that sort, instead forcing her shoulders back and forcing her chest out. It’ll do, she sighs, leaving her bedroom on the run. 

_I’m late. Of course, I am. _Her five-minute shower followed by twenty-minute frustration, added to the fact that she still doesn’t know the house, means that by the time she reaches the dining room, all seven children and Mr. Lannister are seated. Mr. Lannister’s got his head dropped and doesn’t even look up at her arrival, and they were all waiting in silence, as if they had nothing to talk about and wasting time here with his children was the last thing Mr. Lannister wanted to do tonight. 

“I apologize, Mr. Lannister,” she whispers. 

“Just sit down so we can begin,” orders Mr. Lannister, waving his left hand towards the head table opposite to him. His right hand lies there by the dish, not hiding it, not using it either. 

“Good evening, children,” Brienne says as she makes her way to her seat. 

“Good evening, Fräulein Brienne,” they answer in kind. 

She pulls out her chair and bends to sit down, but something scratches her butt and she jumps out in a shriek, half-laughing at the same time. There was a pineapple on her seat and, judging by the smirks the children are barely able to contain, she knows the perpetrator’s names. 

“Enchanting little ritual,” says Mr. Lannister, sarcasm pouring from every word. “Something you learned at the agency, I presume?” 

“No,” replies Brienne, patting the sore area. “Just--rheumatism.” 

The door opens for the butler to come in with their dinner, and Brienne uses the distraction to throw the pineapple to the floor. She can’t help but notice the shocked stares she receives from all seven children, a mix of shock and fright. Did they think she’d snitch on them? That she’d run crying for help to their Father at the first obstacle they’d put her through? If they have such a low opinion of her, they don’t really know Brienne Tarth. 

The first course is soup and they all start eating, noiselessly, almost taciturn. They seem intent on surpassing the dinner without saying a word, but Brienne needs to speak up. 

“I’d like to thank you all for the precious gift you left in my pocket today.” 

Mr. Lannister looks appalled at the interruption and not obliging the vow of silence as the rest of the children--the subject she chose was only a third transgression in a single sentence. “What gift?” he demands. 

“It’s a secret between the children and me, I believe,” dismisses Brienne--she doesn’t need to look at any of the kids to assess how terrified they were, again, that she’d snitch on them. 

“Very well. Then I suggest that you keep it and let us eat,” advises Mr. Lannister. 

She just can’t stop herself. She’s never been good at following orders, especially during thunderstorms. “Knowing how nervous I must have been, a stranger in a new household. . . Knowing how important it was for me to feel accepted, it was so kind and thoughtful of you to make my first moments here so. . . Warm and happy and pleasant.” 

Upon her speech, Mr. Lannister addresses her a single nod. Not really a gesture of appreciation for her words, just ordering her to keep quiet from now on. Brienne doesn’t usually follow orders blindly--she was never in the military--but she’ll try to make an effort from now on.

Because, as she’d expected, her words aren’t amiss by the children. Sansa’s the first to start crying, by Mr. Lannister’s left side, quietly, trying her best to hold back the tears, but loud enough to bother her Father. Mr. Lannister sighs deeply and shakes his head at sight, before stuffing one more piece of meat into his mouth.

“What _is_ the matter, Sansa?”

She doesn’t get to answer, as more and more of her siblings start weeping too, Jon and Robb trying to fight back the tears, others just letting the waterfalls burst out without any kind of control.

“Robb!” yells Mr. Lannister, outraged. “Jon! What is going on? All of you, stop this nonsense right now. Are you Lannisters or not? Lannisters do not cry!”

Brienne, the only one who keeps on eating the fantastic meal Frau Schmidt cooked, can barely swallow her last bite--that’s the only reason he’s going to give as to why his children should stop crying? That they’re _Lannisters?_ Does that mean they’re forbidden from showing any sort of human emotion, at all?

The smile that Mr. Lannister now addresses her is nothing close to neither politeness or warmth--rather outraged and hatred. He almost looks ready to give her a telling off worthy of being recorded and she embraces herself, giving him a contrite smile in turn.

“Fräulein,” he calls her out, his voice low and almost kind, hiding his anger. He drops his fork and grabs the napkin on his lap to wipe his lips--his right hand laying there, useless and unmoving, “is it at every meal or merely at dinnertime that you’ll introduce us to this new and wonderful new world of. . . Indigestion?”

“Oh, they’re alright, sir,” promises Brienne, her voice a pretend mellow and polite tone as much as Mr. Lannister’s. “They’re just happy.”

The burst of sobbing and weeping gets Mr. Lannister even more confused and shocked, but instead of asking what in the world is happening, he just stares back at Brienne. On the other hand, she keeps on eating the second course, avoiding everybody’s eye, letting Mr. Lannister understand she’s not prone to explain her methods. 

They settle after a few minutes, when Franz brings in the dessert. No transgression could be sinful enough that a good dessert cannot fix. And Brienne’s glad for that, too--wasn’t planning on giving the children nightmares or traumas on her first day at the house.

“Children,” says Mr. Lannister all of a sudden, shocking Brienne to the core as well as the kids, “I shall be leaving this Friday for Vienna.”

“Not again, father!” they all complain up and down the table--a rash reaction that is soon cut short by a single stern look by Mr. Lannister. Even Brienne drops her head and focuses on the dessert, although she wasn’t on the receiving end of that look per se. 

“How long will you be gone this time, Father?” Bran dares to ask after a second.

“Not sure, Brandon. Not sure,” is Mr. Lannister’s non-committing answer.

“To visit the Baroness again?”

“Mind your own business!” Sansa chastises Robb from across the table.

“As a matter of fact, yes, Robb,” Mr. Lannister says.

“Why can’t we ever meet the Baroness?” asks Gendry.

“Why would she want to see you, you moron?” demands Arya, who’s been playing with a knife for a dangerously long time now.

“Incidentally, you are going to see the Baroness,” says Mr. Lannister, making heads spin up and down the table. “I’m bringing her back with me to visit.”

No one looks too thrilled by the news, even when the Baroness seemed to be a subject they’re all pretty invested in. However, cheers do raise and deafen both Brienne and Mr. Lannister when the latter informs he’ll also bring home “Uncle Tyrion.”

Brienne has learned four things from the conversation. One, Mr. Lannister leaves for Vienna way too often and for far too long. Two, this Baroness might be just the reason--or woman--why he leaves home so much. Three, the children do not enjoy all the periods of time where their Father isn’t home, and consequently might not even like this Baroness whom they haven’t met. And four, they do love the company of this uncle Tyrion.

There’s no time to analyze any of that as her cell phone suddenly rings. She takes a look at the caller ID and her heart sinks: it’s Pod. Blinking to fight off the tears threatening to spill, she lays her napkin on the table.

“Pardon me.”

“Ten cents!” Arya yells.

That response freezes Brienne, half-standing, and looks around the table. Mr. Lannister’s face is unreadable, although he’s got a murder intent on those deep eyes--if his goal is her or her cell phone, it’s hard to tell.

“Your cell phone rang at the dining table!” explains Rickon, delightedly grinning at her with that smile missing a tooth. 

“You’ve got to pay up!” adds Gendry. 

The device vibrating in her hand, Brienne looks above her shoulder, to where Rickon and Arya pointed at. There’s a glass jar laying on the windowsill and albeit one would normally see a title by ‘Swear jar’, this one reads ‘Phone jar.’ It’s half full, and Brienne guesses most of that, if not all of it, belongs to Mr. Lannister himself. 

“I--I don’t have any cash with me,” Brienne says, holding the cellphone tight to her chest when it stops ringing. “I’ll pay later.

“I’ll put this on silence mode too,” she adds when the melody, a special song sung by Podrick himself, rings again. Mr. Lannister approves silently and reaches out for the coffee Franz offers him on a silver tray.

As minutes pass by, Brienne has to fight harder and harder against the tears and her shivering rage. Mr. Lannister has no intention of finishing any time soon--after coffee, there’s still a glass of whiskey. He forces everyone to stay there, even though he hasn’t offered coffee to any of the children, or any alcoholic beverage to Brienne. And in the meantime, Brienne’s eyes dart every now and then towards her cell phone’s screen, showing the increasing amount of times where Pod’s trying to reach her.

Done with dinner, Mr. Lannister orders everyone to go through--and leads the way to the living room. There are couches and seats to spare for everyone, and still, Bran and Rickon opt to sit on the carpeted floor, in front of the fire, to listen to Sansa reading a story. Robb and Jon sit on either side of a chessboard, the game unfinished, whereas Arya and Gendry take their own books, curled up with a blanket on one of the couches. As for Mr. Lannister, he’s found his cell phone and spends the first few minutes checking messages and emails. He does try to answer some of them, but he gets frustrated by the slow pace of texting with only one hand and soon enough resorts to phone calls. _No wonder he wanted to take my cell phone and smash it against the wall earlier_, Brienne ponders, _if he’s always hooked on his own device and makes it a rule not to use it for work during dinner time. _

Brienne stands there for some minutes, uncertain of what she’s supposed to do right now. The cellphone inside her pocket feels as heavy as a twenty-pound weight--more an emotional burden than anything else--but she hasn’t been dismissed. There’s not much she knows about being a governess, but she is aware that her duties only end for the night when the children in her care are tucked in and asleep.

“Are you planning on hovering all over me for the rest of the night, Miss Tarth?” demands Mr. Lannister, annoyingly slipping into her thoughts. It is then when she realizes she’d been standing right beside Mr. Lannister’s armchair.

“Pardon me,” she says. Seems to be all she manages to say whenever she addresses Mr. Lannister.

After that, she approaches Sansa and the smaller children and takes Sansa’s book, offering to read the story herself. Sansa takes a seat on the couch, her legs under her body, and Brienne looks down, trying to find the line Sansa left the reading at. She smiles, the paragraph all too recent in her memory, and takes a look at the cover and confirm what she already knew: it’s Tom Sawyer. An older edition and at the same time better well-kept than the one she took out of the Library to read it with Podrick, but it’s the same story nonetheless.

She clears her throat before no one mentions her taking so damn long to start reading, runs a hand through the yellowing and thin pages.

“Huckleberry, what do you reckon’ll come of this?’” she starts off.

Reading out loud again after so long seems almost easy--some things one can never truly forget. It all comes back to her, when to stop for effect, when to breathe, the funny voices and faces to emphasize a character’s sentence or point of view. She can almost see Podrick’s little face in front of her, adorably trying to fight sleep as best as he could just to have her reading another sentence, another paragraph, another page.

Of course, she’s not kneeling on the ground of Podrick’s room, with only a bedside lamp to see the words on the pages and a softer blue night light on the opposite wall socket so he could fight the monsters of the night. 

She’s at the Lannister Mansion in Salzburg, and none of the children are afraid of the darkness, and apparently, none of them have any appreciation for the theatrics. All seven children, plus their Father, are frozen in their spots, looking at her with varying degrees of astonishment and shock--although Bran and Rickon do have their mouths open after her performance, leaning forward for her to keep going.

Brienne slams the book shut against her lap, feeling herself blushing.

“I think it’s time the children went to bed,” says Mr. Lannister, the first one to break the silence. His phone forgotten, hanging mid-air, he’s looking at her directly into the eye, and Brienne needs to drop her gaze as well, feeling her face even redder.

“Yes, of course,” she nods, standing in one awkward movement. “Let’s go, everyone.”

Surprisingly enough, all seven children listen to her--or rather, they follow their Father’s orders. Rickon and Brandon stand from the ground, Arya, Gendry and Sansa bookmark the books they were reading, Jon and Robb leave their chess game. Brienne keeps quiet as they all file along outside of the living room, for they don’t even address a single farewell note to their Father. She’s the only one to do so. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Lannister,” she whispers. Mr. Lannister’s already speaking to someone on the other side of the phone and doesn’t even acknowledge her, so she just shuts the door and follows the children upstairs.

Without a doubt, they’re taking it easy on her and she realizes it’s mainly because of their Father’s presence downstairs. When she reaches Sansa and Arya’s bedroom, the two girls have already changed into their pajamas and are ready for bed. The same for Bran, Rickon, and Gendry in the next bedroom, and then Jon and Robb. They’re all too eager to turn in for the night for her taste, but she decides to give them a vote of confidence tonight and not stand guard outside in the hall.

Up in her room, the first thing she does is check her cell phone. Ten phone calls she couldn’t attend because of some stupid rule of a man who lacks a moral background on every other aspect of his life. She’s received a total of eight phone calls from Pod, just one from her Dad and another from Margaery. 

With the safety of the door closed behind her back, she allows herself to cry for a bit because of the time she’s wasted due to an incorrigible man and his children who seem oblivious to her efforts. It is now too late to call Pod, but she still sends him a text message for him to read in the morning.

**Brienne:** `so sorry. Love you tons. Sleep tight.  `

She doesn’t want to bother her Dad in the off chance he’s succumbed to his medicines tonight, for he needs all the sleep he can get. He wouldn’t take kindly either all the complaints she would pour on him over her new job and her employer, the job she took mainly because of him.

At that moment there’s an incoming call from Margaery. She does answer her--she can yell, argue and vent all she wants with her friend.

“Thank Gods,” Brienne greets right off the bat.

“That bad, huh?” presumes Margaery.

“Worse than you can probably imagine,” scowls Brienne, making her way to her desk and pulling out her chair--explaining Margaery every tiny detail that’s happened from the moment she got to the Manor will take her some time. Also, she guesses Margaery will expect a full report on Mr. Jaime Lannister himself. She was the one to do all the research of the man when Brienne got the first interview, after all.

One hour later, Brienne starts to feel better. She might be able to accept that it wasn’t as bad as she pictured it after living through it, maybe it was, but talking it out with Margaery did help. Also, she finally changed into more comfortable clothes, picked up a Coke from the minibar of the room and has been listening to some of her favorite tunes for a while, breaking into song now and then--those are, after all, three of the main components to her remedy for a bad day. When Margaery hangs up saying she’s got an early morning, Brienne almost feels ready to face Mr. Lannister again in the morning.

_ Open up your plans and damn you’re free  
Look into your heart and you’ll find love, love, love, love,  _

Only one thing left to do tonight: unpack her bag, a task she only feels up to fulfilling thanks to the talk with Margaery and her selection of music.

_ But I won’t hesitate no more, no more  
It cannot wait, I’m yours  _

“I’M YOOuuuOOOR--”

The music stops and she’s left all alone singing, none other than the most freeing and exhilarating part of the whole damn song, which had her almost shouting. In the silence of the now quiet room, she realizes her damn strong voice was too high and toneless to be heard by human beings.

Dropping the dress on the floor, she feels blood run to her cheeks once more. She already knows who’s barged into her room and stopped the music, before she turns around. Mr. Lannister awaits by her desk, unmoving. His right hand hidden inside his trousers pocket, his left hand--the traitorous hand--leans almost casually on the desk.

“Miss Tarth,” he says softly. She’s already learned that tone is as dangerous as a yell or a head-on threat. “Having a private party?”

“Sir--”

“If you’re going to apologize, please save it. I’ve heard that from you one too many times today as it is, thank you very much,” he interjects her.

_By what right dare he speak to me like that? _Brienne snaps. Also, it’s not fair--is he truly going to sleep in a pajama that almost seems fitting for a gala? She now feels more out of place in her Mickey Mouse pajamas than ever before. She thought this was her room, her safe haven, where she could do as she pleases. Out of the whole mansion, she only asked for one bedroom of privacy, that’s all. 

She tells herself not to cover her body--in spite of being painfully aware that the shorts don’t truly cover a third of her endless legs, and that the shirt is way too tight to be appropriate--and to stand tall. She is not a woman to wear white dresses with blue satin sashes and Mr. Lannister should have known that by now already. 

He seems to know that all right. Every inch that she is towers over Mr. Lannister. He seems to notice the change in her, there’s some wrinkle in his eye. He parts his lips ever so softly as he takes her all in, head to toes, for the second time today.

“Let me ask you something,” he says, bursting the strange atmosphere. “What do you hear?”

Taken aback, Brienne needs a few seconds to understand the question, and then a few more to ponder what the crux of the quiz was to begin with--the house is completely quiet, the night is still. Everyone seems to be asleep already. . .

“Oh,” Brienne utters when she understands.

Mr. Lannister nods in approval, a gesture she correctly identifies as sarcastic--it’s not as if she’d just solved mathematical theorems that have remained mysteries throughout history.

“Yes,” he concurs. “Didn’t I say bedtime was to be strictly observed?”

“You did, sir. Never thought the curfew included me as well.”

“Do you happen to remember that the first rule of this house is discipline?” is his response to her feeble attempt to answer back, effectively putting her back in her place.

“Yes, sir,” she nods, her voice weaker now.

“Do you, or do you not, have difficulty remembering such simple instructions?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“Can I assume you _have_ managed to remember that I’ll be leaving by the end of this week?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then I trust that before I return, _you_ will have acquired some. I’m sure a woman of your stature will manage to reach such a goal.”

Another crack at her height--how unoriginal. It’s nothing Brienne hasn’t heard before, and she can rise above it anytime, anywhere, whomever delivered the line. But apparently, Mr. Lannister is the one exception to the rule. 

“Goodnight,” he bids farewell, without ever giving her a chance of answering back. He heads for the door, now that he got his point across.

Brienne’s at a loss for words until the door shuts behind Mr. Lannister, and that’s when all the great comebacks pop up in her mind. She throws herself on the bed, not in the mood anymore to resume unpacking her bags. She reaches out her arm to turn off the bedside lamp and grabs her phone to text Margaery.

**Brienne:** `Correction. My boss is a dick and we hate him. Tell you in the morning.`

Once upon a time, maybe he was nicer. He did enter the military to serve his country, he did find a woman who liked him enough to marry him and have his five children, he did adopt two more kids, so there’s evidence that at some point in the past, Mr. Lannister was a good man, or at least a nicer man than the one she’s met today. But something’s gone awfully wrong since then. 

_Well, maybe it was losing his freaking wife and being all alone with seven children, _a voice of reason reminds her. Or losing his hand in some freaky accident in the military. She barely knows the man and shouldn’t be so quick to judge, she knows that. . . And yet it’s difficult not to call him a gigantic ass after this whole conversation about discipline.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's first official day as a governess !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading and following my story and for all your feedback !! I'm so glad to see there're so many "Sound of Music" fans out here. . . And even if don't know the movie frame by frame like me, I still hope you're all enjoying my work !!!

Back at home, Brienne always used to beat the sun to go for a run and have time to shower, prepare breakfast and get Pod out of bed for school. Her days started early and ended late at night with work and taking care of Podrick and her father. 

Today, a stranger to this new household, it doesn’t surprise her that she wakes up early as well, in spite of sleeping in the most comfortable bed she’s ever slept in. She spends some minutes turning and kicking, going over the events of her first day as a governess and the complete emotional roller coaster that was yesterday.

In the end, she decides that sulking won’t solve any of her problems, nor help her confront all the struggles she’ll face today with Mr. Lannister and his children, so she jumps out of bed, changes into her sports gear and leaves the house as silently as possible.

She still doesn’t know the grounds that well and so she just takes the same path the children took her through yesterday afternoon--it just would be too humiliating for her to get lost somewhere in the property. It’s a couple miles short to what she’s used to, but it’ll do for today. At least she’s in a better mood now and is ready to face the Lannister family again.

“Oh, no,” she scowls. 

Now that she’s closer to the house, she stumbles upon a black limousine parked in front of the mansion, the engine running. In a too cowardly move in spite of her resolutions earlier, she hides behind some trees, trying to keep her ragged breathing low. 

After a couple of minutes, Mr. Lannister comes out of the mansion, dressed up in a navy suit, his eyes glued to his phone--so the driver needs to open the car door for him. 

The car drives off immediately and Brienne breathes again. She really couldn’t put up with Lannister’s snide comments and judgment this early in the morning, concerning her flustered face, ragged breathing, sweat covering all her body, her cheap sports gear, and the worn-out sneakers. Speaking up to her boss would be a grave mistake also.

Brienne checks her watch--quarter to seven. The man is a machine to be up so early, headed for work, considering she’s got no idea how late he did turn in for the night. 

Now that the limousine and Mr. Lannister’s threat have been averted, Brienne finds her way back into the house and somehow manages to find the kitchen all on her own. She’d hoped none of the cooks and servants would be awake just yet, but how could she imagine such an atrocity, considering their boss was up and about already. 

“Miss Tarth,” a cook greets her, probably the warmest anyone has ever addressed her since she got here. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just point me to the coffee machine,” she begs, her breathing a bit ragged still.

Without listening to Brienne, the cook starts making the coffee herself. Brienne would stop her if she knew where to find the coffee mugs and everything else in a kitchen that’s twice her house.

She does find the fridge and takes a blessedly cold bottle of water. Before she needs to ask or look for one, the same cook offers her a glass and a stool, and Brienne accepts it in the end--needed to catch her breath, after all.

“Milk? Sugar?” the cook asks.

“Just the coffee,” says Brienne, accepting the coffee mug.

“If you had told us, we could have had prepared it for you.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t want to disturb you,” replies Brienne after sipping her coffee, which being honest tastes wonderfully. She’s not used to having people serving her and never will she.

“It’s our job. We’ll have it ready tomorrow.”

Feeling bad now, Brienne thanks the cook for her troubles, returns the bottle of water to the fridge and takes the coffee mug up to her room. The house is quiet for the most part, except for the stewards and servants cleaning up the mansion.

Back in her room, she makes her own bed before anyone dares to step inside her chambers to make it in her stead and hops into the shower. Freshen after the revitalizing cold water, she changes into comfortable stay-at-home clothes and sits behind her desk with her already cold coffee in her hands. 

Yesterday, out of spite, she threw the folder Mr. Lannister had given her over the desk, unopened, and guesses it’s a good place to start to get used to how things work and finally land onto the Lannister household. If nothing else, it’ll contain some information that’ll help her navigate through today.

She finds the children’s schedules on top of the papers. This is their last week of school before summer holidays for all of them, and in the afternoon they’ve all got some sports practices: football, lacrosse, etc. There’s a weekly calendar showing everyone’s schedules and in the next few pages, she finds the addresses of the schools and the extracurricular activities. She must say, they are prepared for a new governess. It confirms her suspicions that they’ve had a hard time finding anyone willing--and that’s the reason why they’d choose someone as inappropriate a governess as she is. Also, there’s a list of the children’s food allergies and other medical conditions she should be aware of. 

All her respect vanishes when she sees the next few pages: blueprints of the house, marking her bedroom, the children’s bedrooms, the kitchen, and the dining room. It’s not only the fact that they seem to consider all governesses stupid, but also that yesterday night she could have really used that map to find her way around. It only adds up to the embarrassment--Mr. Lannister knew right away she hadn’t even bothered to check the folder he’d so graciously given her.

She’s about to text Margaery again confirming her last night’s assessment of how big of an ass her boss is, but as she reaches out for her cell phone, she thinks better of it. Sending such a text would only mean she’d have to give Margaery more explanations, and she’s tired of venting and explaining and making excuses. 

_I can deal with the lot of them on my own, _Brienne decides for the second time this morning already. Strength doesn’t lie in numbers nor wealth, strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers like the one she’s just blissfully gotten. Since it’s too early to phone Podrick and it’s almost time for the children to wake up, Brienn settles by sending all her love via another text and at least a hundred emoji.

With that, she changes into a somewhat formal business suit and leaves her bedroom.

The first task for today is getting the children out of bed. Turning on their bedside lamps, opening their windows and drawing away their blankets work for six of them: Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Gendry, Robb, and Jon. Arya, albeit awake already, refuses to leave her bed. She’s putting her to test, Brienne realizes as she sends off all the other kids to wash their hands and faces and change for breakfast. What Arya doesn’t realize is that Brienne might not have much experience as a governess, but does know how to deal with a lazy and at times testing child.

She just grabs Arya’s ankles and yanks her out of bed before she can hold on to the mattress or the canopy. Fully awake as Brienne holds Arya above her head, the girl starts shrieking upon the harsh treatment, but Brienne can see the smallest of smiles because of her success. She can tell already that at least two governesses gave up their post solely because of Arya’s shenanigans. 

Brienne’s also smiling with pride over her triumph when she barges into the lavatory to the shock of all six Lannister kids--they never thought she’d succeed against Arya. Only then does she lay Arya on the floor.

“Come on now--wash your face and change,” Brienne orders.

Through the closed door behind her, she can feel the rattle of the Lannister children arguing and complaining. Everyone thought Arya would put up such a strong fight and throw such a tantrum than Brienne would eventually give up.

Assessing the state of the bedrooms, Brienne decides to use the time she’s got until everyone’s ready to make the beds. She’s only halfway through her second bed when a stewardess sees her, shrieks and forces Brienne to stop, arguing that’s not her job in the household. At that precise moment, the children reappear and she agrees that she needs to tend to them now--they’re literally her job description. 

She waits in the hall as they dress up. It takes them all of ten minutes to come out again, including Arya and her fighting spirits. All dressed up in their pristine and ironed school uniforms, sleep in their eyes, it makes her feel instantly conscious about her own plain white shirt, dark blazer, and skirt. 

Sleep does make a significant dent on their looks, however, as Sansa’s ponytail isn’t as perfect as it was yesterday when they met, and Rickon tied his tie wrong. 

“May I?” she asks, kneeling in front of the boy. If she must see to it that they dress in their uniforms, they better dress properly. Rickon barely understands what she’s asking but nods groggily and she ties his tie again. It’s not such a perfect Windsor as the ones Robb or Jon are sporting, but it’s not as crooked and disbanded as earlier. 

They eat breakfast at the kitchen table, seated on stools, and it’s still the quietest and most abnormal breakfast she’s ever known. At home, with only Podrick, any lunchtime can become a nightmare if he dares start a food fight, or singing along some tune on the radio, or just starts one of his endless debates no one can give an answer to. Here it’s seven children and yet it’s almost as if she were alone--she could read the newspaper whole without being interrupted once. 

Well, not exactly. The children have grown used to having the stewards attend their every need and serve them, laying the milk and juice bottles right in front of them, pouring their cereals, peeling their fruit--but Brienne hasn’t. After she was forced to sit down, forbidden from helping out, she can’t help but thank everyone who offers her a coffee mug, milk, a plate with biscuits, toasts and everything else they put in front of her. She shifts uncomfortably on her stool, dazzled at how none of this feels wrong to the children. 

Instead of pointing that out or attempting to make idle chat, she peels an orange for Bran and Rickon and spends most breakfast nudging Gendry on the arm so he doesn’t fall asleep over his bowl of cereals.

Jon’s--or, well, Robb’s--limp has gotten worse since yesterday, she’s seen him wince when descending the stairs. Brienne asks twice if he wants to call for a doctor or take any medicine. He refuses both times and so Brienne drops the subject, knowing when an argument is lost. 

Afterwards, they climb into the limousine, Brienne at the passenger’s seat, to be taken into the city. Primary school for Bran and Rickon, middle school for Gendry and Arya and secondary school for the remaining three-. They all reach their schools with time to spare, which is a personal success for Brienne, since with Pod it’s usually close to a miracle if they’re on time. At least she’s doing alright this morning. 

Having managed that, she’s got five hours to kill ahead of her before it’s picking up from school time. She drops on the seat, heaving a deep sigh of relief when she remembers the silent driver by her side. 

“Back to the house, Miss Tarth?” he asks. 

She ponders for a second. Does she want to be locked up in a stranger’s house where she’s got nothing productive to do other than reading or walking through the grounds, getting depressed at her loneliness and frustrated at all the servants serving her? No, she clearly doesn’t. Staying a little while in Salzburg does sound more appealing. 

“I’m going to go for a walk, if you don’t mind,” she decides. 

“Of course, Fräulein Tarth. I’ll be here when you return.” 

“Please do me a favor and go have a coffee or something,” begs Brienne. Having the driver sitting on the car waiting for her as she wastes time around the city was not what she intended at all. 

The man doesn’t give her an answer--the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, possibly, and it’s such a bizarre suggestion that he looks straight-out appalled by it--and so she sighs, takes her bag and opens the door. Before she shuts it, however, she bends forward with another question bugging her. 

“I’m so sorry, we weren’t introduced. I don’t feel comfortable with you driving me everywhere and not knowing your name.” 

Confused, the man stays silent for so long that Brienne half expects a rude answer, or maybe no answer at all. But later, his lips curl upwards, ever so slightly, and he takes off his right-hand driving glove. 

“Christoph, Miss Tarth,” he says, reaching a hand to shake hers. “It’s a pleasure.” 

“Likewise--and please call me Brienne.”

The second request, however polite, astonishes poor old Christoph again, but he pulls it together astonishingly fast this time. 

“Very well, Brienne.” 

“I’ll see you later,” she bids farewell. 

Pleased at herself for winning this round against the strict rules of professionalism imposed by Mr. Lannister--otherwise known as rudeness and coldness--Brienne walks down the street with a warm smile on her lips. Not meeting Mr. Lannister today and not hearing his smart remarks has really helped her mood. 

Wandering amongst the crowd, walking through the busy streets, does also help to improve her frame of mind. She stops in front of shop windows to peek at items she’ll never afford to purchase, she does stop at a café for a bagel, rests for a while at a park bench and enjoys some minutes of leisure time under the shades of the trees. 

On her way back, she takes her cell phone and calls her father. Some part of her wishes he won’t pick up--nothing promises she won’t crumble and fall to pieces upon hearing his comforting voice--and that he’s resting instead, but he does pick up. 

“Hey, Brinny. How’re you doing?” he asks, his voice weak and worried. 

“Hey, Dad. Never mind me, how are you?” 

“Hanging there, Brinny, hanging there, but you’re the one with the big new job. Tell me all about it--are you truly taking care of seven children? With Pod, one seems more than enough.” 

“Yes, but they’re nothing like Pod, Dad.” 

“In what sense?”

“They’re. . . Something else,” she cannot find the words to describe how different are the Lannisters to the Tarth family, and more specifically, Mr. Lannister himself--but she still tries for some minutes. Starting by the opposite social class background, there’s a mile-long list of things that make her and Mr. Lannister’s life so differing. As if she needed any more reasons not to like the man. 

Giving her a chance to vent out all she wants, Selwyn listens quietly for some minutes but then he does interrupt her and begs her not to talk so much about what makes her and the Lannister guy so different and a little bit more about the job and the children. 

That’s an easier subject, although she confesses right off the bat that she just hasn’t had the time to bond with the kids and truly know them. Brienne refrains from giving her father her worse first impressions from yesterday and focuses on how the meeting and the evening unfolded, omitting certain parts that’d do Selwyn no good--such as the pranks she was victim of. She cannot deny, however, that she did like Rickon and Brandon. 

“They remind me so much of Pod. . .” she confesses. 

“I cannot put you through,” laughs Selwyn. “He’s at school.” 

“Yes, I hope he is at school,” nods Brienne, shaking her head. She’d be worried if calling in the middle of the morning she’d be able to talk to a child that’s supposed to be attending middle school already. She just. . . 

“He misses you too,” her father promises. “But he understands. It’s not a goodbye forever.” 

“No, of course not,” says Brienne. “And I’ll see you next week--remember, I’ve got Sunday off, so don’t go making any plans without me.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be at home,” laughs Selwyn--what other place could he be in his condition, sighs Brienne. He only steps outside in his wheelchair now and for brief periods of time on those days it doesn’t rain, lest he caught a cold. 

“Dad, how are you really?” she presses, colder voice now. “Or do I have to talk to Sam?” 

“Brinny, I just told you--I’m great! Today it’s one of those rare few good days,” promises the man, a bit outraged to be doubted and judged by his own daughter. “Please, stop worrying about your old man. we’re alright here. Just make your best out of your time in Salzburg, and we’ll see you real soon.” 

“Okay, Dad,” sighs Brienne, still uncertain if she should contact Samwell either way. “I should go. Love you. Hug Pod from me.” 

“Will do. Goodbye, kiddo.” 

Brienne hangs up and, landing back on Earth, she realizes she’s been standing in the middle of the crosswalk, right in front of a news-stand. Shaking her head and trying to focus on her job, she heads back to where Christoph parked the car. 

No one’s sitting behind the steering wheel of the limousine and she prides herself for managing to convince Christoph to take a short break. Of course, she doesn’t have to wait for long--he was probably seating at a nearby café, his coffee paid beforehand, so he could make a dash for it when she came back. 

“Miss Brienne,” he greets, bending to open her door. She shakes her head at Christoph’ incapability of simply calling her by her name, but decides that it’s already an improvement and shouldn’t force change too fast. 

They keep quiet on their way back and in order to fight off the awkwardness, Brienne turns on the radio. Her music selection does contrast with what Christoph is used to playing for his passengers--if they ever ask him any music at all--but she just bursts out laughing at his appalled face, lowers the volume and does her best not to sing along. Wouldn’t want to deafen the poor man at their first meeting. 

She could use with a cup of tea and, although a part of her doesn’t want to bother the cooks with something as trivial as that, she makes her way to the kitchen. Down there, she just can’t stop any of the cooks from preparing the tea for her, and so she just stands there by the isle, wiggling her hands shakily as she looks at the cook doing what Brienne’s perfectly capable of performing. As soon as she finds a steaming cup in her hands, she leaves through the glass doors to the mansion grounds and sits on one bench staring at the lake. 

A few minutes later, she’s called in for lunch. She somehow manages to stomach a stew that she could have prepared and stands the stewards serving her while feeling disgustingly obnoxious all the time--she flees up to her room as soon as she can. 

The afternoon isn’t as peaceful as the leisure time she’s been able to enjoy during the morning, for they need to pick up all seven children from school and drop them off one by one to their extracurricular sporting activities, which are: riding for Sansa; polo for Jon, Robb and Bran; lacrosse for Rickon and Gendry; and karate for Arya. 

After that, Christoph insists on buying her a tea at a café in the city. Brienne soon understands it’s professional politeness all over again: they’ve got only a short break before they need to climb back up on the car to pick them all up again. It must be exhausting for the poor old Christoph, since just a few hours later he’ll have to drive back to the city for Mr. Lannister. 

In the meantime, however, Brienne has her own problems. She needs to deal with seven very grumpy and tired toddlers and teenagers to go for a walk, shower, change and get ready for dinner. Robb and Jon, for the main part, don’t even spare a look towards her and mind their own business. Sansa just cannot stop herself from judging everything Brienne wears, says or does. Arya’s just a nightmarish hurricane, even after the two-hour karate session that’s supposed to wear her out. Gendry’s usually quiet, following Brienne’s orders until one of his other siblings causes some havoc and then he’s only too eager to add to the turmoil--same goes for Rickon. 

Bran’s a little angel, seizing the time while Brienne helps him out into another uniform, to explain in full detail everything he’s learned at school today and every detail about his practice at lacrosse, a sport Brienne knows virtually nothing of. Bran doesn’t seem to notice her lack of knowledge on the subject, for she knows when to nod in agreement, pause for effect or simply make some interjections to the lines of ‘No way!’ or ‘That’s neat’. As she said to her father earlier, she likes Bran more and more by the minute--he’s just too young to show her malice or hold grudges against her because his Father doesn’t want to spend time with them. 

“That’s very nice,” she approves, buttoning the last buttons from Brandon’s evening uniform. She combs a hand through his hair, making him chuckle, and has to fight the urge to give him a quick peck on the nose--just as she would do to Pod. “Downstairs for dinner, now.” 

They come out to the hall together, Bran’s six siblings waiting by the veranda. Sansa shakes her head at the tardiness, Arya growls for making her wait being as hungry as she is, and Robb leads the way downstairs, grabbing Rickon’s hand. 

“Actually. . . Robb, may I have a word?” Brienne asks. 

The whole entourage stops in the middle of the stairs, but only Jon and Robb turn around, a bit confused. Brienne smirks at them failing to maintain a charade and prank for more than twenty-four hours: they’re not sure who she was calling out for. Brienne looks straight into Robb’s eyes--the right Robb--as she speaks. 

“Robb, just come with me for a second.” 

She points at the bedroom with her head and turns around without waiting to see the children’s reaction to her finding out about their little trick meant to confuse her. Inside Jon and Robb’s room, she sits on the desk chair waiting for the boy--for she was certain that, sooner or later, he would step in. Just in case, he does shut the door behind him. 

“What is it, Fräulein?” 

“Your foot still hurts, doesn’t it? Your limp has gotten worse.” 

“I’ll be fine,” promises the boy, turning to leave. 

“Stop right there,” orders Brienne, raising her voice more than she would have liked. She stands to get her point across and, sighing in defeat, Robb drops his hand that was reaching out for the doorknob. “I cannot pretend to understand why you don’t want to go to the doctor. . .” 

“It’s unnecessary,” he replies, an automatic response. 

“--But we need to take care of that injury, or it’ll get worse. By the time we get you to the hospital, they might have to saw your foot.” 

Robb lets out a sarcastic laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Where did you study Medicine again?” 

“Sit down,” orders Brienne, pointing at the chair she was sitting on. 

Assuming he’ll obey, she steps into the adjacent bathroom, hoping to find the same emergency kit she saw back in Rickon’s and Arya’s bedrooms. She checks its contents before taking it to the bedroom, making sure there are bandages and scissors. 

When she returns to the bedroom, Robb hasn’t only sat down, but he’s surrendered and is now taking off his shoe and sock as well. Even from this distance, Brienne can see the swelling of the ankle and curses internally. She still doesn’t understand the dynamics of the Lannister family, and if Robb’s ankle doesn’t get better, she will hold Mr. Lannister personally responsible. He is, no doubt, the reason why Robb’s so reluctant to go to a doctor--and she’s got no idea where this stubbornness stems from. 

Instead of damning Robb’s Father’s name, Brienne sits on the bed in front of the teenage boy. She takes his leg, careful not to hurt him further, and lays his foot on her lap. Robb winces but tries to swallow back any cries of pain as she makes him move the foot from one side to the other and then in circles. She was as tender and careful as she could and yet she can see how much pain Robb is in. 

She takes the bandages and carefully wraps Robb’s ankle, turning and covering the sore area a few times until his movements are a bit more restricted. All done, her hands keeping warm the area, she looks up at him. 

Robb’s got the strangest look on his eyes when he decides to look up from his bandaged ankle to her. She mainly reads disbelief, but there might be a lot more to unwrap there. 

“Where did you go to Medicine school?” he asks again, all serious now. 

“Nowhere,” she chuckles, laying his leg back on the floor. “It’s called experience.” 

She then takes some medicines and lays two aspirins on Robb’s open hand. 

“You’ll take these every morning and night from now on. I’m not saying we won’t have to go to the doctor’s in the long run, but you just might see some improvement.” 

“Okay, Fräulein Brienne. Thank you,” he nods. If he didn’t sound so serious, Brienne would suspect all his perfect obliging behavior is just a façade, but she can tell the difference. He’s not faking it. He’d even trust her in order to avoid a visit to the doctor. 

Robb stands, testing his weight on the foot. After a couple of seconds, he doesn’t take a step, and Brienne stands there, expectantly, waiting for him to confess that this is stupid and that he needs to go to the doctor. 

What he had in mind was nothing close to that, however. 

“Should I help you clean up?”

“No need. Thank you,” she heaves a deep sigh when she surrenders to the fact that Robb will not give in so easily. Not tonight, at the very least. “It’ll just take me a minute. I’ll see downstairs.” 

Robb nods and takes a first cautious step. His limp hasn’t been magically cured, of course, but with the bandage he now minds his ankle a little bit more, trying not to lean so much weight. Brienne lets him go, for now, hoping it’ll get better in a few days, although he really should just quit sports practices. When Robb disappears out to the hall she picks everything up, washes her hands consciously and follows Robb down to the kitchen for her portion of soup and steak. 

After dinner, given their Father’s absence, they don’t go through to the living room but head back to their rooms. After brushing their teeth and changing into their pajamas, Rickon, Brandon, and Gendry literally beg her to read a few pages of Tom Sawyer. 

She catches Rickon fighting sleep as bravely as Pod used to do, even resorting to biting his lower lip to stay awake a little while longer. At that, Brienne smiles warmly, bookmarks the page, lays the book on the bedside table and takes Rickon’s glasses off, gently pushing his head against the pillow. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Gendry and Bran are almost out of it too. 

“Goodnight,” she whispers. Checking the night light is turned on, she leaves. 

She goes up to her bedroom too, exhausted out of her mind. She answers a few texts from Margaery and Podrick, changes and lies on the bed to read for a little while. 

An engine and a strange rubble wake her up in a jolt, the pages of the book crumpled at the corners. Putting the book away, she looks out of the window to see the black limousine pulling up again in front of the house. Mr. Lannister finally arrives--at quarter to midnight. Well, there’s no wonder he doesn’t see his children much. 

Before Mr. Lannister finds her awake, Brienne turns off her lights and was bound to shut the windows when she sees a shadow in the darkness of the garden, moving gracefully and knowing exactly where they’re going. She leans forward, but it's hard to distinguish the figure in the darkness. _Is that Arya...?_ She cannot truly imagine Sansa of all people breaking curfew, and the pajamas definitely belong to a woman. What would Arya be doing out so late? 

She has no time to investigate, for the car pulls up to a stop right then in front of the Manor, and by the time Brienne looks at that spot again, the shadow has already disappeared. She quickly shuts the blinders and steps into bed. She’s had a perfect day without meeting Mr. Lannister and doesn’t want to ruin it now.

_I really should go after her,_Brienne ponders, feeling uneasy about having one of the children in her care out there, unaccompanied. She also refuses to get out of her room while Mr. Lannister roams the house, lest she's forced to tell him that one of his daughters has wandered off into the woods all alone in the dead of the night. It'd be the last straw to break the camel's back on her very first day--she'd be sacked immediately. However, Mr. Lannister doesn't head straight for his own room: ten minutes in, Brienne still hasn't heard his footsteps on the stairs headed for the second-floor dormitories. And with those thoughts in mind, she dozes off, against her better judgment. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne starts to bond with the children as her first week at the Lannister's fly past, and with it, Mr. Lannister's trip to Vienna draws nearer. On the vedge of his departure, Brienne decides they need to have a talk.

Brienne’s first week working at the Lannister’s household is exhausting. 

Her work is a routine on the loop that mirrors her very first day at the house: her days begin early in the morning and she leaves for a jog. She’s already learned a trail around the grounds that prevent her from getting anywhere close to the limousine parked at the entrance by the time Mr. Lannister leaves for work, as to avoid any unwanted meeting. She refuses to call herself a coward, it’s more of an avoid-conflict-strategy kind of thing. 

She returns to the house for her cup of coffee that Mia and Emma, depending on the day, have ready for her. Showers, changes, makes her bed and by then it’s already time to face the children and convince them to wake up, change, and get to breakfast. The next hour comprises a tour with Christoph delivering each kid at their school and then she usually enjoys a few hours to spare, sometimes having a coffee with Christoph, sometimes she calls her father and stays up to date with Samwell Tarly, others she just enjoys a stroll around Salzburg. 

After lunch, she needs to pick all the children up. Three times a week they’ve got sports practices, which means another tour around Salzburg to drop them off and another to pick them up a couple hours later--the other days of the week, they just return home to do their homework and to comply with their scheduled hour of walking through the grounds. As per Robb’s limp, he seems to be doing better, what with the bandage she made for him and the medication. Brienne’s still uncertain if they should just get on with it and book a doctor’s appointment, but for the moment she’s just abiding Robb’s wishes. 

Afterwards, depending on how big of a fight they put up with her, they might even have some minutes to read or enjoy their hobbies before they need to shower and change for dinner and then Brienne sends them all off to sleep. From then on, she stays with Rickon, Bran, and Gendry reading Tom Sawyer, although fight as they might against sleep, they’re usually so tired by then that she only gets to read half a page at best before she puts down the book. 

Just in case, she’s come to stop at every room to check on the other children before calling it a night for herself too. In the darkness of their rooms, it’s hard to tell if Jon, Robb, Sansa or Arya are asleep as well, but at least they pretend they are, and that’s good enough for her unless they cause some mayhem in the middle of the night. 

She also tries to read for a while, although in a week she hasn’t managed to progress with her reading more than a couple pages, for she’s so exhausted that the words start dancing in front of her eyes all too soon. She usually switches off the light well before Christoph returns driving Mr. Lannister back home. 

She’s perceiving little things amongst the children too, spending so much time with them. 

Robb and Jon are inseparable. They do everything together and might not even picture a world where they didn’t. During meals, late at night in their shared bedroom, during their walk, at sports practice, they’re always together. Robb mentions his Father every so often, and Brienne can tell it’s a sore subject for the boy. Being the first child of Mr. Lannister, just as his Father was, he knows what his future’s supposed to be--he realizes he will one day inherit the Empire and that all his education is meant to prepare and give him guidance on that front. Brienne fears Robb doesn’t seem to like it, he dreads and fears the prospect, even. As per Jon, he’s got some kind of devotion or admiration towards Mr. Lannister for some reason, but albeit he’s one year younger than Robb, he doesn’t seem to have that same kind of pressure over his shoulders. And most of the time Jon refuses to talk about Mr. Lannister, for those feelings of respect and veneration seem to be buried very deeply. 

However, there are other subjects they could turn their attention to. If the pair ever looked beyond their noses, they’d realize Sansa struggles and tries time and time again to talk to and connect with them--it’d be a wonderful trifecta if the two teenagers would notice at some point. 

Their obliviousness doesn’t affect Sansa in any way, however--or she’s learned not to show it to her other siblings, rather. Every time she attempts to engage a conversation with Jon and Robb while they’re talking on the side and they shoot her down unconsciously, she carries on as if nothing had happened. But Sansa does notice it all and has a keen eye for everything. A lot of times Brienne has caught Sansa eyeing Brienne’s clothes with a judgmental look or criticizing how Brienne behaves and moves and says things. 

“Did you see that her dress had a tear?” Brienne heard her one night, talking to Arya, as the two girls were changing inside the bathroom. “And she whistles on the stair when she comes to wake us up in the morning. I’ve even heard her singing late at night!” 

“Oh, who cares!” Arya exploded. 

“I’m only saying, she’s a flibbertigibbet,” Sansa pondered on. 

A few moments later, Arya emerged from the bathroom, letting Sansa vent and rant on and on all by herself. Brienne had already left by then, to tend to Rickon, but that night she stayed up late to mend her dress. 

Gendry keeps quiet for the most part, head dropped, does what he’s told. Brienne hasn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with the boy throughout the week, and she’s made it a point to try to break through the façade at some point and discover more about him. He does spend a lot of time with Arya, especially when they’re out for their walk, which means Gendry can keep her at bay--so Brienne’s all for it. 

As per Arya, she’s still a mystery to Brienne. She’s a turmoil, she puts up the biggest fight to whatever Brienne suggests, and whenever Brienne finds any opposition front from all the children, per example when they don’t want to change for dinner or refuse to go out for their walk, she’s certain Arya was the instigator. Then again, Brienne has her own methods to fight back--as in, when they refuse collectively to do something, she refuses to add wood to the fire and just lets them be, respecting the time and space they so desperately need to be respected. 

Brandon is still a little, adorable angel, and Brienne can now confirm that it’s not only a part he’s performing--he is nice and charming and all he wanted was a little bit of tender, warm and care to open up. She knows all of his friends at school, his favorite subjects, his hobbies, the fact that deep down he hates lacrosse and would rather do anything else after school. He’s shown her all the paintings he’s got hidden in a drawer in his room. 

“This is us,” he explained when he showed her a bunch of drawings of all seven siblings, either in the house or playing out in the grounds. In all of them, there’s a third woman, the governess from back then, but their father isn’t present in any of the pictures. He also has drawn his friends at school playing football or out at a birthday party. 

“These are really good, Bran--excellent, really,” praised Brienne, flicking through the drawings. Rickon looked very pleased at the praise, and Brienne understood that he doesn’t dare to tell Mr. Lannister he’d rather dream away about drawing and painting than the extracurricular his Father chose for him. 

She spends most of her days with Brandon, and hence Rickon, since the two are never apart either, and sure enough, Rickon’s also started to open up to her. He doesn’t speak much, Bran doesn’t truly concede him any time for it, but by the way Rickon talks about Mr. Lannister, he just admires the man too much and looks up to him every day of the week, twice on Sunday. Of course, Mr. Lannister could show and teach him a lot if he was ever around. 

All in all, the week flies past as she falls into a strange household routine she feels anything but comfortable in--with the impending departure from Mr. Lannister drawing closer and closer by the day, until Friday comes around. 

That night, after sending the children to bed, she takes her cell phone and her book down to the living room, her mind set to wait for Mr. Lannister’s arrival. Crouched on the armchair, her legs under her body, she fights off sleep by reading while listening to her music, provided headphones, of course, lest Mr. Lannister finds another reason to berate her. 

They haven’t crossed paths at all the past five days, and the only time Mr. Lannister needed her, to inform her of Gendry’s dentist appointment next week, it was communicated through Franz. However, Brienne finds it imperative that they meet tonight. Even if Mr. Lannister wasn’t leaving in the morning, she believes she should report on how the first week with the children unfolded. She figures he should at the very least be intrigued. 

Tired and immersed in her music as she was, it’s almost a miracle that she hears the front door open. She jumps off the armchair and comes out to the hall, but Mr. Lannister’s already halfway up the stairs, slow and tired pace. 

“Mr. Lannister?” she asks. He doesn’t respond--she was trying to keep her voice low on behalf of the children--and so she follows him to the second floor, where she still hadn’t set foot in. He finds him fidgeting in front of a door, struggling with his suitcase under his arm, unsuccessfully trying to turn the doorknob. “Mr. Lannister.” 

He spins at her voice, gasping. “Good heavens, wench, you don’t sneak up on people in the middle of the night like that,” he complains, his voice deep and a little bit thick. 

“I beg your pardon,” she says, determined not to let anything Mr. Lannister says get under her skin tonight. No insults, no name-calling will belittle or deter her from having a word with the man. She can cope with whatever he wishes to throw at her to hurt her. “And I was hoping I could have a word with you.” 

Mr. Lannister finally manages to turn the doorknob with his elbow and he clicks his tongue for his success. She’s guessing he hasn’t heard a word she said, for he doesn’t give her any answers before stepping into the room. Brienne interprets that move as good an invitation as any and follows him inside, where Mr. Lannister uses his suitcase to hit the switch for the lights. 

“Mr. Lannister, I--” 

He spins, tumbling a bit, and seems surprised to see her there. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” he demands. “Oh. Wait. There’s a bed here. D’you want to sleep in here with me?” 

Startled, Brienne takes a look around. She’d have thought Mr. Lannister would go into his office to leave his suitcase first, but she’s just barged into his bedroom, uninvited, and Mr. Lannister has just made her a completely inappropriate suggestion concerning the king bed size with canopy. She feels herself blushing and all coherent thoughts vanish from her mind--giving Mr. Lannister one more chance to make fun of her. He bursts out laughing and then disappears into the door to the right. If the distribution of this room is the same as everyone else’s, that’s going to be the bathroom. 

Her hunch is proven right when she hears the unmistakable sounds of someone taking a piss. Scowling under her breath, Brienne turns around as to avoid any further embarrassing scenes and stands there, facing the way out that looks so close, as Mr. Lannister flushes, washes his wands and emerges from the bathroom. 

“No need to be so stiff, Miss Tarth,” he says then. She takes a deep breath and turns around again, knowing there’s nothing to be done concerning her red cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

“You just won’t quit doing that, will you?” he asks in despair. He turns towards a coffee table with glasses and a crystal bottle of some liquor on a silver platter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Apologizing!” he explodes, raising his arms, bottle included. “Stop it. It’s annoying. Especially if you don’t mean it.” 

“I--” Without anything else in mind to say except to apologize, Brienne thinks better of it and keeps silent. Mr. Lannister seems to be able to tell what she was going to say, for he smirks at her and then pours himself a glass of the beverage. 

He drops onto one of the armchairs in the room, takes a sip of the drink and sighs pleasantly, closing his eyes for a second. Brienne can’t help but wonder if this is the first drink he’s had tonight, all things considered--him calling her ‘wench’, inviting her into his bedroom, this whole strange conversation. Her worries further intensify when his next action is to lay the glass on the coffee table and, secondly, take off the prosthetic hand affixed to his arm. He lays it on the table and takes the glass once more, taking another sip. 

Lost in thought, staring blankly at the prosthetic hand, he seems to have forgotten all about Brienne’s presence there. She needs a few seconds to compose herself, her eyes transfixed on that hand, wondering not for the first time what sort of accident overcame Mr. Lannister. 

Shaking her head to wear off such thoughts, she clears her throat so Mr. Lannister looks up at her. 

“Ah, Miss Tarth,” he greets her, almost as if he’d truly forgotten her standing her. He waves so she steps closer, pointing at the spare armchair in the room. Brienne approaches but refuses the seat, choosing to remain standing. “Can I offer you a refreshment?” 

“No, thank you, sir. I don’t drink.” 

“Suit yourself,” he says, almost in the lines of ‘your loss’. “You said you wanted to talk to me?” 

“Yes, sir. It’s about your children.” 

“Are you quitting?” Mr. Lannister asks, squinting his eyes at her. 

“No, sir,” she promises. What could have possessed him to say such a thing? Has any of the kids or the servants told him something awry about her manhandling the children? 

“I wouldn’t put it past you. You’ve lasted longer than the three previous governesses already. So, tell me, did someone get hurt?” 

“No!” she shrieks, outraged, this time unable to control her own voice out of shock. Her record of working as a governess might not be extensive, but she’s not incompetent either. No child shall bestow any injuries under her care. Even if she wasn’t paid by Mr. Lannister to ensure the children’s well-being, she would try her best to protect them all. 

“You’re telling me they haven’t managed to tire you out yet?” 

“No, sir. I’m tougher than I look.” 

It was the wrong thing to say and she can tell instantly by the raised eyebrow and crooked smirk Mr. Lannister addresses her. Brienne sighs deeply, rolling her eyes. Of course, she looks quite tough and intimidating already, says that look. 

“I am not quitting,” she insists. 

“Thank the seven,” Mr. Lannister whispers, shocking Brienne’s whole system--what in the world does that mean? He sighs, sinking deeper into the couch, and rests the glass against his forehead as if to fight off a coming headache. “There have been so many. . . No one stays. No one could handle them. At times, I even began to think. . .” 

“What?” Brienne asks softly, as Mr. Lannister didn’t finish his sentence. 

“I just wondered if there was something wrong with my kids.” 

“There is _nothing_ wrong with them,” scowls Brienne almost instantly, with the rage and shock that should come from the children’s father, not from her. 

“Don’t you think I know that, you moron?” groans Mr. Lannister, him raising his voice as well. He pulls himself to stand and in order for his back to face Brienne, he just refills his half-empty glass. Seeing as she hasn’t disappeared into thin air out of magic, he curses under his breath and storms off, just as not to be trapped between Brienne and the armchairs. He stops close to the still ajar door. “If there’s nothing else, I would like to turn in for the night, and since this is my bedroom. . .” 

“Mr. Lannister, I did want to talk to you about your children,” says Brienne before she’s dismissed. 

“I do not wish to discuss--” 

“Forgive me, sir, but I think we need to.” 

“No, we truly don’t,” replies Mr. Lannister fiercely, shaking his head. “Leave. Now.” 

She’s doing it all wrong, she realizes. It’s late at night, they’re both tired, all they had in mind a few minutes ago was to go to sleep and wake up refreshed in the morning. Mr. Lannister’s clearly not in the mood for any discussion, and Brienne can tell that if she pushes him further, they’ll just piss each other off even more. 

However, she finds herself unable to stop. She fights through Mr. Lannister’s colder and ruder voice by the second and stands her ground. 

“Sir--” 

“_You beast of a woman!”_ Mr. Lannister explodes, spinning to face her. She has to take a step back because of the stench of alcohol and the venom she sees in his eyes. “Will you just _shut up!”_

“Mr. Lannister,” she replies, outraged, but he doesn’t give her time to deliver her initial statement. 

“Hand in your resignation, or just leave in the morning if that’s what you want. But if you choose to stay, I’ll have to ask you to never step into my bedroom in this manner ever again,” he keeps going, unaware of his loud voice that could wake the whole house up. 

“Nowhere in your job description says that you need to psychoanalyze the children within your care. All you need to do is make sure they attend all their classes and sports activities, that they do their homework, that they eat properly and stay uninjured, and that they respect their bedtime. _Nothing else!_ You don’t even need to be friends with them, they don’t have to _like_ you! You’ve known them for less than a week so do not pretend to have this big insight into their lives and dreams. You’re no part of this family. Trust me on that, you’re much uglier than any Lannister in our whole family line. 

“They’re _my_ children, I’ve known them all their lives, and I do not need to discuss them with you. So get out of here at once and do not disrespect me in this manner ever again.”

For a second, nobody moves--they’re both gasping, dazzled at the exchange that has just happened, although Brienne fears the alcohol will prevent Mr. Lannister from remembering any of the words he’s just yelled at her. 

She looks for something, anything, appropriate to say or do. But just this time, Brienne doesn’t need to be told twice: without a word, she just leaves the room, running out the door Mr. Lannister was still holding open for her. She does take the time to slam the door shut behind her back, the children be damned. Mr. Lannister be damned too. Thank the Forgotten Gods that he’s leaving in the morning and she won’t see his face for who knows how long, or else she’d have to consider handing in her resignation. 

She’s tougher than she looks and won’t let the late-night conversation get the better of her, now that she believes she’s making some kind of progress with the children. But if she’s staying, it’s for those poor seven kids, Brienne reflects as she reaches her bedroom. She couldn’t give a damn about Mr. Lannister, the same way he doesn’t seem to care about his children, much less her. If it truly comes to that, she’ll hand in that resignation as soon as he returns from his trip. The kids just don’t deserve to be cast aside by both their Father and an unimportant governess on the same day. 

_Why did I ever think this conversation would have any sort of beneficial results? _All she managed was to get insulted worse than she’s been in years, to be belittled and frowned upon by her employer. And now, she’s got to hide inside her room and fight off the sobs and tears of rage in her eyes, tears that she hadn’t poured for a man in so many years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with him being three hundred miles away from Salzburg, Brienne has a hard time forgiving Mr. Lannister. Her sorrow leads her to make the acquaintance of the Lannister's neighbors, and she returns way too late for any of the kids to be awake still. . . (And yet they might be awake and up to some shenanigan or other...)

_ Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens  
_ _Brown paper packages tied up with strings... _

Godsdammit, it’s completely futile. The tears won’t stop spilling, even if she’s singing a song meant to list her favorite things in the world, the little things that supposedly bring her joy and can put a smile on her face however dark the day seems. At least it works wonders with Podrick and with her father, in spite of her terrible singing voice. Perhaps it doesn’t work unless someone sings it to you. 

But that’s the whole freaking point, damn it. She wouldn’t be such a mess if she’d visited Pod and her father back home. Her day off was supposed to be about her family, the one she hasn’t seen in a week since she traveled to Salzburg, instead taking care of someone else’s children because that certain someone is incapable of finding the time for his children and to take care of them as he should do. 

His words from yesterday still sting her. Ugly, wench, beast of a woman. . . She’s heard it all before, and she’s been the victim of much worse name-calling. And yet it hurt her to unspeakable levels. She’s working for the man, for Pete’s sake, she’s doing him a kindness that he should be bothered to do himself, and still he feels he’s entitled to call her names and treat her as he pleases, just because of he’s a Lannister, because she’s being paid to do that job and because she’s staying under his roof. 

The worst part is, he thinks he’s able to manhandle her and dictate how to live her life and that she’ll stay quiet. The crux of the question is that that’s exactly what he’s done, even without meeting her directly since their quarrel yesterday. 

When Brienne went out for her jog in the morning, Franz stopped her. He had a message from Mr. Lannister. Brienne didn’t exactly expect an apology, they were both wrong the previous night, but from refusing to accept a mistake to controlling every aspect of her life, there’s a red flag to be issued there. 

Mr. Lannister argued that it’d be too disruptive for the children for her to take a day off so soon, especially on the same weekend when he wouldn’t be home, and so he suggested that Brienne waited a couple weeks for that day off. On his note, he also added that they’d settle everything on his return, for which there was no scheduled day and wouldn’t happen in the imminent days. To summarize: Brienne is, right now, literally stuck at the manor taking care of seven children while their father is hundreds of miles away doing Lord knows what. 

_ Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels_  
_Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles  
_ _Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings...  _

Explaining it to her father and expecting him to deliver the news to Podrick when he returned from school and wouldn’t find Brienne there was the hardest thing she’s ever done. They’ve been together forever and were counting on this first day off to settle things and have a talk about how the next few months would unfold. Brienne hadn’t made Pod any promises, arguing that this weekend they’d find the time to talk and fix everything. And now, for the first time in her life, she’s broken her word to him. 

“Who does that man believe he is?” Selwyn scowled when Brienne told him she wouldn’t see them this weekend. “You had that day off by contract! He cannot go back on his word.” 

“Yes, I know, Dad, but I cannot leave these children alone, can I?” 

“Lannister’s got a hundred servants, didn’t you say that?” added her father. “They wouldn’t exactly be left alone. You get your ass on a taxi right now and go confront your employer, or lest come home!” 

Of course, Brienne would have fought Mr. Lannister’s plan had she been able to. By the time Franz had given her the note and she was bound to confront Mr. Lannister about his wonderful idea, Mr. Lannister had already left, for he’d woken up extremely early for his flight. Which left her without any option but to accept the punishment for her cheek the night before and stay in Salzburg. Morality forbade her from leaving the children as well without notice. 

_ Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes  
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes...  _

“Hey there.” 

Startled, she spins around, holding to the guitar for dear life. But she doesn’t feel threatened at all by the chubby short man smiling down at her. 

“Hello,” she greets, wiping the tears off her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Renly,” the man answers patiently. 

“Are you friends with the Lannisters?” 

“Sort to speak. We’re neighbors, you see.” 

“Oh. Well, if you wanted to see Mr. Lannister tonight, you’re in no luck. He left for Vienna this morning.” 

“Actually. . . I’m not visiting anybody. You are.” 

“What’d you mean?” 

“You’re not in the Lannisters property here.” 

“Good God,” curses Brienne. She jumps off the grass as fast and awkwardly as her long legs allow her, taking the guitar suitcase with her also. She takes a look around, as if hoping to find a red shiny line limiting the Lannister property. 

Renly bursts out laughing, absentmindedly caressing her arm to comfort her. “It’s OK, my dear, I’m not going to call the police on you. Are you staying with the Lannisters?” 

“Yes. I’m the new governess there,” answers Brienne. She avoids mentioning how long she’s supposed to stay working there--she guesses it won’t be that long. By the time Mr. Lannister comes back, he might decide to pull the plug and fire her either way. He just didn’t have the time to interview any candidates and find another governess before his trip. If any candidates would ever show up. 

“You don’t say?” Renly’s eyes sparkle at that as if she’d told him he’d just won two million bucks. He looks above her shoulder then, waving her arm and using his free hand as a megaphone around his lips. “Hey, honey! You’re lucky we didn’t bet anything, for you would have lost!” 

Brienne turns to see another man walking through the woods, clearly uncomfortable because of the unfit shoes, stopping ten feet from them. He leans against a tree, takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat off his face and neck. He couldn’t look any less interested in who Brienne is right now. 

“That’s wonderful, honey, but can we go home now? I’m starving.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’ve been complaining for about an hour. Won’t you introduce yourself to our neighbor?” 

“What for? She won’t be around that long.” Brienne almost chokes on that remark--the man doesn’t really know how close his estimate is. Renly curses at the statement, but the other man interjects him. “I’ll be at the house with refreshments.” 

“And I should probably go,” says Brienne now that the second man is wandering off into the woods once more. Renly grabs her wrist to stop her from fleeing. 

“Nonsense! You have to stay and try one of Loras’ famous cosmopolitans. It’s to die for. Well, not the creepy Lion King way, I assure you. . . You know what I mean.” 

Brienne cracks a smile, without even meaning to. “Yeah, I got it.” 

“I promise, you cannot go back without tasting one of those. They’re famous all around the neighborhood. It’ll make you forget whatever aches you.” 

“I really should go back and tend to the kids,” she insists, looking back at the direction of the Lannister mansion. 

“Aren’t they in bed yet?” 

Brienne sighs--she was hoping Renly wouldn’t notice the time. She only left the Mansion once her duties as governess were done, that is, after she delivered safely to bed all seven Lannister kids. If they’re asleep or not, she cannot concern herself with that tonight. She needed an out, a short while away from the kids and that mansion. So she took her guitar and used the remaining daylight to wander through the grounds and through the woods, never realizing she’d gone so far, to find silent solitude to play and cry by herself. The solace and comfort of the song and her surroundings didn’t come, though. 

“I really need to go.”

“I insist. Please,” begs Renly. He’s the first kind and courteous man she’s met since she got here that isn’t nice to her simply because he’s paid to be so, and it shows. Even when she’d been singing to herself for half an hour at least, this man she’s just met manages to make her smile. She cannot help but miss some polite adult company for a little while, can she? 

“Okay.” 

Renly takes her guitar suitcase to carry it himself and then offers her his arm. In order to distract her, Brienne guesses, he starts talking about all the other neighbors connected by the mansions facing the lake. His chatter does manage to take the edge off her anger, and she realizes that if only she’d walked ten minutes more, she’d have seen Renly’s mansion and might have wondered if she was too far away from the Lannister mansion. 

“Let me introduce my partner, Loras,” says Renly, pointing at the man from before. He’s had time to change and is now at the terrace of the mansion with two drinks. He seems to be in a much better mood now. 

“Well, you’re just in time!” Loras yells when he sees them both, waving. 

“Loras, honey, prepare another drink for our guest, Miss--” 

“Brienne Tarth,” she supplies, blushing when she remembers than in all this time she failed to introduce herself. 

“Coming right up!” promises Loras, stepping into the mansion again. In the meantime, Renly offers Brienne to sit on one of the benches facing the lake, providing her with many pillows for her commodity. He also keeps talking on and on about the neighbors and all the advantages of the life so far away from the city and yet so close, giving Brienne little time to worry over the late hour, her chores or her arguments with Mr. Lannister and her family. 

Less than a couple of minutes later, Loras reappears with a third drink, handing it to Brienne, and a box of cookies. 

“Thank you,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. She must admit, it’s exactly what she needed right now. “This is amazing.” 

“Now have one of these,” suggests Renly, offering her the cookies. 

“You don’t want to drink more than two of my cosmopolitans on an empty stomach,” advises Loras with a knowing smile. 

Brienne grabs one, albeit not really hungry, and takes the smallest of bites. Is her depression making everything taste better or has she just not been eating and drinking properly? “These are so good too,” she says. “Did you make these as well?” 

“Oh, no,” replies Loras. He leans back on his seat by Renly’s side, throwing an arm around his partner’s shoulders. “These are from Jorah’s bakery--you do need to go there as soon as you’re able to. I’m an excellent bartender, especially when it comes to cosmopolitans, but not so much of a cook.”

“Actually, you don’t want to invite him over to your kitchen,” laughs Renly. “He hasn’t stepped foot in ours since we moved in and I intend to keep him from there as long as possible.” 

“And that’s why our drinks cabinet is located at the dining room,” nods Loras. 

The laughter that overwhelms Brienne is so powerful, joyful and boisterous that it surprises herself as well as her hosts. She hadn’t laughed so hard since she got to Salzburg--and she certainly didn’t expect to laugh again today. She’s already thanking her lack of direction that brought her to Renly’s and Loras’ place. The two men seem pleased at her more relaxed disposition as well, exchanging one look before they make a toast. 

“To new friendships,” suggests Renly. 

“To new friendships,” nods Brienne, raising her drink too. 

“What you were playing out there, by the way?” asks Renly. “It was beautiful. Although so sad.” 

“Tell us, darling, what aches you?” presses Loras--that was the question in disguise Renly didn’t want to ask head-on. Brienne laughs at the subtlety, or lack thereof, of the pair, and looks down on her drink to have some seconds to collect her thoughts. She’s just met them, after all, and isn’t keen on giving them a backstory of her whole life. 

“That song is something I sing to my family whenever we have a bad day,” she explains. “It’s sort of our medicine, our ‘spoonful of sugar’, if you know what I mean. It’s not as helpful as your cosmopolitans, though.” 

“And. . . What happened?” Renly asks softly. 

“Broken heart?” 

“Don’t go there,” scowls Renly with a roll of eyes. “Sorry, Brienne, darling, but Loras has the theory that the governesses don’t last much in that mansion because they’re all Jaime’s new hot chick fling and he throws them out of the house after he’s done with them.” 

“It’s possible!” claims Loras. 

“No, it is not. It’s a big fat bull of no, Loras. When would Jaime Lannister have the time to meet so many women? He spends like twenty hours a day in his office, for Pete’s sake!” 

“There’s something called online dating, sweetheart. I know you’re too old to understand. . .” 

“We’re the same age.” 

“But the men of today, who know about the Internet and live in the twenty-first century. . .”

Brienne lets the pair argue all they want for some long minutes. She hadn’t considered the possibility. Eleven young women have come and gone before her for varying periods of time. If she was the Lannister’s neighbor, perhaps she would have drawn the same conclusion in the long run. Of course, knowing as she knows Mr. Lannister, she doubts any woman would be interested in spending any time with the man, doesn’t matter how wealthy or handsome he is--as soon as he opened his mouth, any potential girl would shoot him down instantly. 

However, now Renly and Loras can truly refute that idea once and for all: she is not the stereotype of a young, beautiful, stupid and biddable girl who’d fall head over heels for Mr. Lannister just because of his looks, his money, and because he’d managed to say a couple of cheesy flirty lines. 

Though she now wonders what could possibly be the deal with that Baroness they mentioned on her first night at the house. . . He seems to visit her quite often. What could possibly drive that man and woman together so often? She can’t stand Mr. Lannister for more than two minutes straight without going nuts--what’s his secret talent and charm to court a woman from Vienna’s high society? Could Mr. Lannister truly be so good in bed? 

“Brienne, what’s gotten into you? You’re as red as a tomato.” 

She chokes on her drink and needs some seconds to catch her breath. Why on Earth would she picture her employer in bed with another woman? Why on Earth would she picture her employer in bed, period? Especially when she’s so mad at the man to begin with? 

_Pull yourself together!_ she commands herself. 

“So, tell us--what ails you?” insists Loras. 

“Homesick, actually,” she confesses in a sad smile. 

“Where’s your family?” 

“Vienna.” 

The same place her employer is staying right now, the one and only place she’d dreamt of spending her day off. Her blood boils only for remembering that, and she needs more alcohol to stomach the thought. She takes the glass again and finishes the beverage. Loras refills it for her before she lays it down on the table. 

After talking it out and drinking a dangerous total of three cosmopolitans, Brienne does feel a little better. She even cracks to peer pressure and accepts playing one song for Loras and Renly. She refuses to play ‘My favorite things’, that’s private for her and her family, and the second song that comes to mind is, for some reason, ‘I’m yours’. All throughout the song, in spite of Loras’ and Renly’s amazing duet, she keeps picturing Mr. Lannister’s hateful smug face from her first night at the house and ponders what made him the way he is.

Frau Schmidt described Mr. Lannister as a ‘fine man and a brave one’. He got married at such a young age and yet he was devoted to his wife. He enlisted in the military, where he lost his right hand. He adopted two children on top of the five biological kids he already had. He lost his wife, leaving him all alone with a bunch of toddlers and teenagers he barely knows. He’s the heir to the Lannister Empire. 

_What am I missing?_ she ponders. Is the man she loathes hiding so much more than meets the eye, or is he simply as cynical and tyrannical as life and family values have made him? 

Loras and Renly insist so much that she gives in and plays The Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’ next, but then she insists that she does need to get going. She refuses a ride on Loras’ motorcycle and so needs an extra thirty minutes to make it back to the house--it’s almost eleven o’clock when she arrives to the mansion and shuts the front door behind her. 

She needs to make a brief stop at the kitchen first for a glass of water--the walking, the crying, the singing, and the drinking have left her mouth completely dry. 

Halfway to the kitchen, she realizes she won’t make it back to bed so soon either. There’s a rattle coming from the kitchen that can only mean at least three of the kids are up. She’s hoping against hope that it's not all seven children breaking curfew and testing her on a very bad night, but deep down knows that she’ll find all of them as soon as she turns the corner. 

And her hunch was right. There they are around the kitchen table, a mess of snacks on the table, ten different conversations and jokes going on at the same time. Apparently, their Father’s absence is what little push they needed to cross the line--or, you know, to come out of their shells. This is what a normal table with seven children should look and sound like, no matter the circumstances. Not even Rickon’s in bed, well beyond his bedtime. 

Well, she needs not to worry now, she sighs. When Mr. Lannister hears of this, she’s going to be fired for sure. It’s just a matter of time now. Thank the seven. 

She lays the guitar suitcase on the floor, against the wall, and turns on the lights to announce her presence. The conversations die out at once and everyone slowly turns towards her position, varying degrees of worry in all their eyes. The older ones--Jon, Robb, Sansa and one unfathomable Arya--don’t look worried at all, whereas the others are almost frightened, their little faces going white. 

“What’s happening in here?” she demands, hands on her waist. “And please refrain from saying ‘nothing’ because I can see it’s _not_ nothing.” 

“Fräulein, we were just hungry,” explains Jon, pointing at Robb and himself. 

“And you invited everyone else?” she presses, waving her hand to vaguely point at their five remaining siblings. 

“Well, Rickon was thirsty and wanted some water. And when we got here, Arya and Gendry insisted that they were hungry as well, so. . .” 

“So you decided to have a late-night family snack, I see,” Brienne finishes, pointing at all the snacks and beverages scattered on the table. “Has your thirst and hunger been satiated?” 

They exchange looks, uncertain of which answer will get them in less trouble. Brienne spares them from thinking and worrying too much this late at night. She takes her jacket, hangs it from the nearest chair, and rolls the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. Might as well throw the house out of the window. Her ass is already so fired as it is, she can indulge them a bit. What’s the worse that can happen? 

“Right. Gendry, Arya, clear out the table and get tomatoes and oil. Jon, fetch some bread from the counter and then get water and milk. Sansa, Bran, Rickon, get whatever cold meat you’d like from the fridge. Robb, napkins, glasses, and dishes, please.” 

No one moves nor bats an eye, frozen staring at her with wide eyes--bemused by her orders so distant from the ‘clean all this mess up and go back to bed this instant’ they expected. As a matter of fact, they still expect Brienne to say it was all a joke and that they should clean up and go to sleep, and they await those instructions for some seconds. 

“Well, didn’t you hear me? Chop, chop!” she yells, clapping a few times to snap them out of their daze. 

At that, they all move instantly, hurrying all over the kitchen. In an impressive collaborative work, which Brienne had feared would never happen, Gendry and Arya clear and clean the table for Jon to lay a couple loads of bread, as Robb hands Brienne a sharp bread knife. He then hurries off to gather eight glasses--including Brienne without even stopping to wonder or ask--a bottle of water and a carton of milk. Jon has already delivered a bunch of tomatoes and oil to the table, whereas Sansa, Brandon, and Rickon are arguing in front of the fridge what cold meat should they pick. Brienne starts slicing the bread to make sandwiches for everyone, laying them on the dishes Robb hands her. 

Brienne doesn’t even need to command anyone anymore: she slices the bread into eight portions, Bran oils the bread, Jon adds the tomato on, Sansa and Arya spread the chosen cold meat, Robb lays the dishes in front of everyone’s seat, and Rickon hands out napkins. It’s taken them less than a ten-minute work effort to have their own proper late-night snack, accompanied by either a glass of milk or water. 

Conversations pick up immediately, all eight seated on their stools around the table, the remnants of their work together forgotten, for now, down the aisle. Brienne has never witnessed them with such energy and joy, chatting about stupid things children and siblings so normally do. She almost wants to congratulate them all on their work, but no one’s too worried about it and the last thing she wished to do was complicating their evening. 

“Is that yours, Miss Tarth?” asks Rickon, pointing at her guitar suitcase. 

“Yes, it is.” 

“So, you play?” asks Gendry. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m a professional, but I can play, yes.”

“Would you play something for us?” 

“Not tonight,” she replies. “As soon as you’re all finished you’re getting your asses upstairs and back to bed.” 

Some chuckles raise upon her language, but dinner unfolds easily. Afterwards, no one, not even Arya, puts up any fight in order to clean up their mess, wash the dishes, and return everything they used to their proper cabinets or the fridge. As Brienne makes sure they all wash their hands at the sink, she can’t help but admire the way they so easily and graciously worked together given the chance and the proper instructions. 

Maybe it doesn’t need to be a one-time-only event, she reckons. And, as the children finish washing and drying their hands, a plan starts forming in her head. Might as well make use of this borrowed time she lives in until Mr. Lannister returns and put the kids to the test in the meantime. 

“Listen,” she stops them before they go anywhere, “you don’t have anything planned for tomorrow, do you?” 

“Shouldn’t you know that by now?” demands Jon, making Brienne roll her eyes--well, the truce is clearly over now. 

“I’ll wake you up at nine. We’ll have an excursion tomorrow morning.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and the kids go on an excursion ! If you know the original movie, you know what's coming up in this chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of struggling at work and I'm not getting much sleep these past few days, which translates in me having a lot of spare time to write... So I'll probably be able to publish 2 chapters this week!  
Again, I thank you all for your feedback, it really keeps me going

**Jaime (Vienna)**

_That damned woman. How dare she? _

She barged into his bedroom uninvited to insult and disrespect him in ways he’d never been addressed to before. Granted, he didn’t handle it well, but _she_ pushed _him_, not the other way around. She dared to believe that she knew his children? After a single week of being their governess? By what right…?

He sighs again and tries to focus on the document in front of him, a single five-page contract his Father sent him to proofread, sign and return. But it’s no use--every other word he reads is either Brienne or Tarth, and he starts thinking of her freckled face, her boisterous voice always apologizing, her immense figure. The hurt look on her eyes before she dashed out of his bedroom, unable to utter a word, not even a well-deserving ‘screw you’. The outrage in her voice when she defended the children, the promise that she wasn’t going to quit.

Why can’t he get that stupid, stubborn woman out of his head so he can focus on his work?

Someone sits on the arm of the chair, her arms stretching over his shoulders and chest. Jaime leans back, in a deep sigh. He was supposed to leave her alone for ten to fifteen minutes, maximum, but checking the clock on the wall he knows it’s been more than half an hour. A very unproductive thirty minutes.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Cersei asks softly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s trying times for the company.”

“Did you come to Vienna to keep working or to be with me?”

“To be with you,” he promises immediately. Jaime takes her hand with his good hand--Cersei’s never liked to be touched by his prosthetic--in order to plant a kiss on her palm. “I’m so sorry. Just five more minutes.”

“But there’s something else troubling you,” she insists, grabbing his chin to look straight into his deep eyes, “isn’t there?”

Jaime sighs deeply, throwing the folder and the papers over the coffee table and letting her sit on him, his arms securing her within his lap.

“Well, I had to hire a new governess. . .”

“Oh, my,” she sighs. “The never-ending story of troubling governesses. What’s happened now?”

* * *

**Brienne (Salzburg) **

Brienne taps anxiously on the floor with her feet, waiting by the front entrance. She’s as nervous as when she met the children on her very first day here--and rightly so, she might add. Well, she can say goodbye to this job. It’s not as if she doesn’t expect so already either way.

Apparently, Mr. Lannister’s absence gives them all a whole lot of room to breathe. Apart from the late dinner last night, him being gone meant that after Brienne woke up the children, she left them to their own devices and expected them all to show up at the front entrance by nine o’clock. It's now ten to the agreed time and she’s all alone there, with her guitar suitcase and the couple baskets Mia and Emma have prepared for their day out.

At last, the seven kids emerge from their bedroom and file in line through the hall--as uncertain about today’s events as she is. Brienne stares as all seven children descend the flight of stairs and reach the great hall where she’s standing, their steps slow and cautious, exchanging worried and confused looks. They don’t like this change of schedule. Sansa, for one, looks appalled.

“Well, we’re ready, Fräulein,” says Robb after a couple of silent seconds.

“No, you’re not,” scowls Brienne. “Didn’t I say we were going on an adventure?”

“An _adventure?”_ shrieks Arya.

“An excursion,” mends Brienne--she wanted to get Rick and Bran excited for the day out, but failed to remember some would hate her phrasing. “Do you want to suffocate to death?”

They all frown at her, unable to understand what she means.

“Take off your ties,” she orders, reaching a hand to receive them. “Unbutton your shirts, it’s hot outside today, for Pete’s sake. Arya, Sansa, you may go and change if you’d like.”

Sansa looks appalled at the idea, but Arya’s only too eager to remove her ponytail and the laces on her hair and dress, dropping it all on the floor. Upon her reaction, Sansa shrieks, but that was the spark everyone else needed--all her siblings take off their ties and jackets and unbutton the first buttons of their shirts, Rickon and Gendry even drop their jackets as well. Upon everyone giving in, Sansa realizes she cannot stop all of her siblings and just stands in the corner, arms crossed, rolling her eyes every time one of her siblings tries to look at her or even talk reason into her. Brienne doesn’t bother trying.

Except for Sansa, everyone else seems to be breathing better already, just like that, with a few pieces of clothing less.

“Very good. _Now_ we are ready,” she approves, folding neatly all the ties and jackets, and dropping them on the floor. Sansa yelps again, but that doesn’t stop Brienne either--she knows they could eat on that floor without risking any infections, they can leave the clothes down there for a little while until one of the servants gets rid of them. She won’t push Sansa into something she’s not comfortable with, not yet, but she will not go out of her way to please only the girl, either. Instead, Brienne just opens the front door for everyone to get out.

The day starts by taking the bus to Salzburg city. All the children sit uncomfortably in their seats at the end of the bus, their backs straight, without really looking through the windows at the marvelous landscape surrounding them, but Brienne specifically forbade Christoph from taking them in their limousine. They need to land on Earth once in a while.

In the city, Brienne wanted to do some shopping for their day out. Following yesterday’s night example, she pairs up the kids and charges each pair with a task: Robb and Rickon buy some canteens, Gendry and Arya bottles of juice, Jon and Brandon pick up some fruit, and Sansa buys a few snacks. They really didn’t need any of that, with the baskets of food Mia and Emma, the cooks, have prepared for Brienne, but she just wanted to see if last night was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence or not. Apparently, it wasn’t. They abide by her rules and return with their proper purchases, for the most part, although they do spend more than necessary without giving her any explanations.

Done with her little experiment, it’s time for the excursion to begin. They just need to take a train that’ll take them up in the mountains. When they leave the station, they set off for their hour of walking--Brienne figured they’d feel a bit more comfortable complying with some of their Father’s usual instructions, especially Sansa.

This time, however, she doesn’t allow them to fly away and walk their separate ways and starts the conversation off by questioning Robb about the scattered houses they can see in the middle of the mountains. This brings up a whole conversation about the beautiful landscapes and the livelihood up here in the middle of nowhere, where it must get kind of lonely in the dead of winter. This subject leads to another, and soon enough everyone wants to have their say in the matter at hand and it becomes difficult to follow and take part in every conversation happening around her--at any given time there’re at least three conversations happening. Brienne smiles to herself. That was her goal from the beginning. The kids are mostly quiet because they’ve been taught that idle chat, joking and arguing isn’t befitting of their name, but that’s exactly what a bunch of siblings are supposed to do.

At some point, Brandon confesses that he’s kind of tired of walking and Brienne agrees that they’ve gone far enough.

“Should we camp out here?” she suggests.

No objections raise and so she drops the baskets, draws one of the blankets and spreads it wide on the ground. In other circumstances she’d allow the kids to ‘go wild’, but she guesses it wouldn’t have the same effect on the Lannister children than it usually does on Podrick--they’d just draw the conclusion that she’s mad.

Instead, she just takes the snacks they bought and the football she’s been carrying on a separate bag, allowing the children to do as they please. For a second she fears they’re just going to sit down on the blanket and just stay there, collectedly, the way they’re supposed to do, not to indulge in silly activities and pastimes. But then Jon and Robb do grab the football and take off, Brandon and Rickon follow them, and Gendry and Arya run off as well. Sansa is the only one to stay behind. After a beat, she lies down on the blanket under the relentless midday sun, but Brienne’s pleased to see a satisfied smile on Sansa’s lips, moving her toes at the rhythm of some tune or poem she’s reciting to herself.

Brienne looks up when she hears Gendry’s shriek, making sure the other kids haven’t vanished into thin air or ran off too far. Arya and Gendry are playing at the Seven know what, rolling down the mountains, and as per the other four, Robb has teamed up with Rickon on their football game against Jon and Brandon.

Without a word, Brienne hands Sansa some of the snacks they’ve bought. The girl looks down on the peanuts bag but does not touch it--that is, until a few seconds after, where Brienne busies herself with something else.

She takes off her shoes and stretches her legs as far as she can, eating an apple and trying to keep an eye on the kids and not on Sansa. The more she tries to connect with the girl, the more she’ll push her away, Brienne knows that. So, for the time being, she settles with Sansa being able to stand her around while not criticizing her or name-calling her as their Father is so keen on doing every hour of every day. For the time being, it’ll do.

Mr. Lannister was right on one thing and one thing only: she’s been here for a single week. She cannot pretend to know the children. Much less, expect to fix their relationship with Mr. Lannister, or, while teaching them about discipline and adulthood, have them behave and act like the children they really are. She’s only a common woman from Vienna with a very different social background, skills, and academic achievements. She’s just filling in a post because there was no one else available. That’s it.

In order to wear off such unpleasant thoughts, Brienne throws away her apple at the plastic bag they’ll use for a bin for today and grabs the guitar. Still keeping an eye on the children to make sure they’re all still alive, she tunes the instrument at first. Then, she spends a few minutes mindlessly playing some chores, getting used to the feel of her fingers over the strings, to the music that rises so easily, so comforting too, as if it was magic.

Yes, she concurs, this day out was a good idea. If it turns out to be a success or not, she’ll have to ask the children later, but as far as she’s concerned, she’s satisfied so far. She needed to get away from the manor, the children aren’t putting her through hell in spite of not being under the indirect supervision of stewards and housekeepers and butlers, and they’re spending the day outdoors, under the warm sun, with a chilly breeze, out here in the wonderful mountains. She never thought she’d find this much peace again so soon, after the disastrous conversation with Mr. Lannister and her consequent penance.

“That’s beautiful,” says Sansa then. “What was that?”

Her speaking up makes Brienne miss that last chord and she cringes--not that beautiful a sound anymore. She tries to remember what she was playing, but lost in thought, she believes it was just a collection of random chords and short training songs for her fingers to stretch out.

“Nothing really,” says Brienne, playing another chord. “Just practicing. Chords and scales.”

“What’s that?” Sansa asks. She turns on her back to face Brienne, laying on her elbow, and the way the sun hits her auburn hair is despairingly beautiful.

“Miss Tarth! Are you playing?” Brandon asks in a yell, ten feet apart. At that, Rickon and Bran dash to the blanket, their little faces red and flushed, ragged breathing. They drop to either side of Brienne, expectantly, still leaving her plenty of respectful space to breathe. As per the two older boys they were playing with, they forget all about their game too and come closer as well, not as tired as their younger siblings, Robb sitting on the football and Jon kneels on the ground.

“No, I was just telling Sansa about scales and chords.”

“What’s that?” everyone within hearing range mirror’s Sansa’s previous question.

“You don’t know about music?” demands Brienne, frowning at them.

“Well, we’re not idiots,” scowls Arya, approaching from Brienne’s back. Her clothes and Gendry’s are all crumpled and dirty with mud; they’ve got scratches on their arms and faces--what in the world have they been playing at? Even if this was what Brienne wanted, for them to let their hair down for once, she might have gone too far too soon. . . “And we’re not exactly immune to pop culture. We know about Beyoncé, Rihanna and so on--”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Haven’t you ever played a recorder in school, or the piano? You can’t read a music sheet?” she demands, too busy with that revelation to worry about Arya or Gendry right now. She’s starting to understand the disappointment in everyone’s faces when yesterday she refused to play the guitar--of course, they wanted her to play something for them.

“You may have noticed that none of our extracurricular activities involve anything related to music lessons,” scowls Jon with a roll of eyes.

“Father never wanted us to take part in such frivolous and useless activities,” explains Sansa, her voice low, picking up at the grass at her feet. “Since we spend so much time in class, he wanted us to partake in sports and extra lectures for Math or Trigonometry if necessary, but that’s about it.”

“I see,” says Brienne. Judging it’s not the appropriate time to dive into this sore subject, she just moves son. “So, if I were to ask you to sing something...?”

“You’d go deaf,” sentences Robb.

“And Father wouldn’t approve,” adds Bran, a bit concerned now.

“But your Father isn’t here right now, is he? And he doesn’t need to know unless one of you snitches on me,” says Brienne, flashing him a warm and reassuring smile. She’s just lying, of course, but they don’t need to know that right now. Even if anyone tells Mr. Lannister about this project of hers, it’ll just be one more reason for him to fire her on the spot.

And now she’s done it, found the magical words: keeping something wrong--to their point of view--from their Father. They couldn’t look more interested now.

“Well, let’s not waste any time. You must learn,” she decides, taking the guitar. Robb and Jon have gotten closer, Arya and Gendry have finally found a place to sit down and they all look at her excitedly as she tunes the instrument again. She ponders for a second how to address this matter, but there’s only one way in the end. “Let’s start at the very beginning--a very good place to start, don’t you think?

“So, when you read, you begin with. . .”

“A, B, C!” Brandon provides, and Brienne nods at him.

_When you sing, you begin with: Do, Re Mi_

She proceeds, and then goes quiet, giving the children a few seconds to repeat her words. At least they manage not to get her ears bleeding, which is a start. She nods in approval then,

_Do, Re, Mi. _  
_The first three notes just happen to be: Do-Re-Mi.  
_ _Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So-La-Ti. _

All that string of notes might be too much to begin with, and Brienne stops for a second, biting her lower lip. Podrick grew up with her and her father singing and watching all sorts of musicals, and he did have music class at school, so she’s on uncharted territory now. How come they’ve no idea about music, at all? How has Mr. Lannister managed such a feat? It’d be inconceivable for her, that’s for certain.

In order for them to learn the scales and any song known to mankind, she just needs to make it easier for them. And what better way there is to simplify this lecture than to make some word-association game through a simple song?

_“Doe,” a deer, a female deer,_  
_“Ray,” a drop of golden sun_  
_“Me,” a name I call myself_  
_“Far,” a long, long way to run_  
_“Sew,” a needle pulling thread_  
_“La,” a note to follow sew_  
_“Tea,” a drink with jam and bread,  
_ _That will bring us back to doe! _

By the second time she sings the rhyme, the children slowly start to join her. She keeps playing until everyone pipes in and can sing the whole verse, however good or bad their singing is. But after all seven manage to remember all the lyrics and notes, she starts giving them indications to improve their singing, making sure they all hit the appropriate notes or breathe when they need to. Their new attempt sounds much better, even though Brienne wouldn’t call herself an expert musician either.

The children’s excitement is, however, simply contagious. Including, to Brienne’s biggest surprise, dismay, and delight, Arya’s. She believes the girl’s only taking part in the lecture because she’s planning on torturing her Father with her singing, but oh, well--Mr. Lannister probably deserves the hell Arya’ll put him through.

They sing that verse time and time again and it’s a delight seeing how freeing music is to them all. Soon enough they’re standing and running up and down while singing, as she accompanies them with the guitar, but then she cannot stop herself either and joins their wild running and attempts at dancing. Mixed in bursts of laughter, it doesn’t take long for their song to be unrecognizable--but they demand more.

And so she delivers more.

_When you know the notes to sing, _   
_You can sing most anything! _

Just a couple more lines to be mixed up, and from then on they can sing in canon rounds, from the beginning to finish, from the middle, from the ending and start again. They all sing and comply with her directions, bursting joy and energy everywhere they go up there in the hills. Dancing in a whole group, in pairs, in trios. . . There’s just no stopping them at that moment.

They’re still singing when they make their way back to the train station. Robb and Jon carry their baskets, Sansa holds onto Rickon’s and Bran’s hands for dear life and Gendry keeps an eye on Arya. On the train, she picks up her guitar and accompanies all their singing. They’re not even aware of the stares coming from the other passengers, albeit propriety was one of their most engraved principles growing up. And the passengers don’t look so displeased and uncomfortable either: seeing seven children enjoying singing and having the time of their lives, most of them just smile politely at Brienne for her entertaining such a bunch of children and just move on.

They keep singing all throughout Salzburg on their way to the shuttle bus stop: as they cross through the bridge over Salzach river, through the Mirabell Gardens, or while they do some more shopping waiting for the bus. Tiredness catches up on Brandon and at some point, Brienne delivers the baskets to Jon so she can take him into his arms--and she still hears him humming against the corner of her neck.

Franz is bewildered to answer the door to the bunch of children singing at the top of their lungs and Brienne, as she steps into the mansion, fails to deliver any answers, not for the singing and not for Arya’s and Gendry’s clothes. She’s too hungover after the whole day outdoors and the children’s enthusiasm, and lets Franz extract any conclusions he wants to so he can report back to Mr. Lannister. They’ve never heard the kids singing, they are about to do so now.

They sing for a little while longer upstairs in their rooms, but at some point, Brienne must ask some decorum from the children in order for them to shower, change and get ready for dinner.

“Can you play any more songs?” Rickon asks as she helps him comb his hair.

“A few,” she grants, barely able to contain her smile.

“Can’t you show us?” everyone begs in a chorus.

“Uh-uh. Not tonight,” she flatly refuses. “The Lannister Family Choir Club will start practicing tomorrow morning. Now, it’s time to eat.”

They don’t look too disappointed in Brienne’s shooting down Rickon’s hope, for it seems her suggestion for tomorrow compensates it all--they look eager to spend more time on singing and music lessons. They reach the kitchen sporting the biggest of smiles and highest spirits she’s ever seen on them. Although tired, they’ve loved every minute of today’s excursion, every verse that they’ve sung.

“Couldn’t we do this every day of summer holidays?” asks Brandon--and everyone approves the suggestion.

“Don’t you think you’d get tired of it?” laughs Brienne.

“Suppose so,” reckons Bran.

“And every other day?” supplies Jon, making everyone, Brienne included, laugh. She wouldn’t mind, really--she’s always loved the outdoors, and would pride herself if the children came to love those excursions as well. But that’d be possible if she was going to stay that long in this household. It seems that Renly and Loras were right.

“I haven’t had so much fun since we put glue on Fräulein Josephine’s toothbrush,” confesses Arya with a big grin. All her siblings concur.

Brienne raises an eyebrow at such a malice prank the children played. She takes a look around the kitchen--they’re unusually alone, the cooks and servants choosing to stay away from their singing and their out of the blue excitement. It’s as good a time as any to tackle this subject, she reckons, and wipes her lips and fingers on the napkin.

“I can’t understand how children as nice as you can play such tricks.”

“You’re calling Arya _nice?”_ shrieks Gendry, almost choking on his food.

“In what universe would that be?” demands Robb.

“My bad, sorry--I shouldn’t have included her,” jokes Brienne. If she’d expected Arya or any of her siblings to be outraged and offended by her words, she must face disappointment: everyone agrees with her statement, Arya included. “But my question remains.”

“It’s easy,” shrugs Jon.

“Governesses don’t have keys to lock their rooms, so it’s not technically breaking in--”

“No, I got the ‘how to do it’ part, thank you,” Brienne stops Gendry before she hears any stories about the children stepping into the bedroom she’s sleeping in at the moment to plan the Gods know what pranks. “But why do it?”

“How else can we get Father’s attention?” demands Sansa, forlorn in her voice as she avoids Brienne’s eye.

“Oh, I see,” is Brienne’s only response.

Of all the possibilities. . . Well, it kind of makes sense now. Mr. Lannister’s never around, except for when the children step out of the line, apparently. That’s all the time they’ve usually got with their Father. Even if it’s merely a telling off, they seem to look forward and cherish those moments. Which is completely wrong, and Brienne has a hard time wrapping her mind about it, but she begins to understand what is going on around here.

_I’m going to have to think about that one, _Brienne sighs deeply. Even Brandon, with only six years, doesn’t mind to be told off if that means their Father will stick around for a little while longer. She’s not sure what she can achieve, since the last time she tried talking to Mr. Lannister she didn’t exactly come out of the other side unscathed, but still. . . She’d weather it all if it meant an improvement between these children and their Father’s relationship.

“Alright, we’ll see what we can come up with until your Father comes back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Robb.

“It means, eat your vegetables,” replies Brienne.

They comply--or try to, on Rickon’s case, which she lets it slide, just this one. In the meantime, Brienne’s mind keeps wandering off helplessly, eyeing the seven children in front of her. They want so much to reach out for their Father, to bond with him in the exact same way they’re doing with her, and they wish it was as easy a step as playing some music and singing a song.

They want to get to know their Father, but they hide their feelings most of the time. The way they talk about school and homework, they’ve been drilled the importance of work and the part the Lannister Empire will play on all their lives, so they understand the amount of time Mr. Lannister reserves for his work. Doesn’t mean they like it, however. The lack of a mother figure leads to the seven children being left alone with governesses throughout their childhood, the most crucial evolutionary stage in a person’s life. Brienne guesses they’d trade all their money and the entire Empire for some quality time with their Father in a heartbeat.

_What’s their Father’s stand? _she ponders. If he knew how to make things work with his children, would he give up his Empire as well and live a much simpler life, but being on his kids’ good graces? Are those two things incompatible, however? She’ll have to do some investigative work on the weeks to come, she fears.

A few minutes later they announce that they’re through. Mia and Emma reappear to take care of clearing the table and washing the dishes, too late for Brienne to stop them and order the kids to take care of their dishes themselves. And so, she compels everyone to go upstairs.

After everyone else settles in their beds, she ends up again at Rickon’s, Bran’s and Gendry’s room. Too tired for any reading tonight, she just tucks them in tightly.

“Can’t you play us a song?” begs Rickon. Brienne laughs softly, although it proves difficult to say no to those big, sad puppy eyes and pouting face. She covers his face with her hand--that’s how big it is--and ruffles his hair. He’s got his eyes closed already, instants away from dozing off completely.

“Not tonight,” replies Brienne, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. As shocked as she is for her impromptu gesture, Rickon doesn’t say a word, his smile doesn’t even waver, and she prays to the Seven that he’s asleep already.

Up in her room, her eyes fall on the guitar that so much joy has brought them today and jumps onto the bed, against the pillows. Comparing her current mood to how she went to bed two nights ago, anyone who saw her would believe she’s crazy. But maybe, just maybe, despite her lack of experience as a governess, _maybe_ she’s doing things right.

She takes her phone and tries contacting her father, but it’s Samwell who picks it up, reporting that Selwyn’s asleep already. She forbids Sam from waking up Selwyn, wishes him goodnight and then calls Margaery. She does pick up--after all, she’s been texting Brienne for the past hour demanding details about today’s excursion--and Brienne proceeds to tell her all that’s happened today. She can barely believe it herself, and talking it out helps let everything sink in, albeit it doesn’t sound any less plausible.

After one hour of talking, Brienne feels nowhere ready to turn in for the night. She's buzzing with excitement; every fiber of her being fizzes, her mind just won't stop going over today's events, and she's got this huge smile on her lips, unable to erase. Since she doesn’t need to turn off the lights early tonight just to avoid any awkward meetings with Mr. Lannister, Brienne takes her guitar. She plays ‘Do-Re-Mi’ over and over and over again, reminiscing Podrick’s charming little face whenever they sang the song. Reminiscing, too, the Lannnister kids’ joy and enthusiasm when they slowly started to understand the music and, later on, when they learned the lyrics and began to sing as well. Reminiscing them all singing in such bliss and carefree chorus on the way back, all throughout Salzburg, and all afternoon in the house.

She starts practicing current pop-cultural songs--from The Beatles to ABBA or Rihanna--knowing how much they’ll love singing and playing songs that they know. Brienne keeps playing until her fingers ache and her eyelids drop out of exhaustion, and she falls asleep with the guitar leaning against the bed, on the floor by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to convey merely through words everything that this song means in the context of the movie and for the kids (even in my work), so if you liked the chapter, you may want to check out the real song "Do-Re-Mi" on youtube or any other platform ! Hearing Julie Andrews and the kids' original voices are worth listening too, also 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as much as Brienne tried out an experiment with the kids regarding their excursion out in the mountains, come morning the kids also try to put Brienne to the test !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the week !! (thank God it's Thursday xD )  
Hope you like it :D

Even with talking it out yesterday night with Margaery, and having a whole night ahead of her to let it all sink in, Brienne wakes up uncertain of what exactly happened the prior day with the children. The guitar suitcase leaning against the wall brings back some blurry memories that almost seem a dream. 

To clear out her head, she resorts to the one thing that still remains the same, at least for the time being: her daily routine. She changes into her sports gear and leaves the house with more energy than usual. 

Jogging does make her feel better, and by the time she steps out of the shower she can almost believe yesterday was only a dream--or a nightmare. 

Then again, when she steps into the children’s room and sees they’re all awake, dressed and waiting for her, her heart sinks. Even little Brandon, who’s been deprived of five more minutes of sleep, stands there with his siblings. She steps into the room slowly and weary, looking around for any signs that a murderous prank will set off at some point. They are certainly up to something, she knows that much. 

“Good morning, Fräulein Brienne,” they all greet--such manners so early in the morning, only manage to scare her more. 

For some seconds, they’re the stars of some new staring contest show. Brienne fears to ask what’s going on and the children just won’t spoil their surprise, whether it is good or bad, so they keep quiet too. In the end, Brienne just can’t stand the silence and needs to ask: 

“What’s happened? What did you do?” 

“We did nothing!” complains Arya, outraged to be suspected before she’s done anything wrong. 

“We were talking last night,” informs Robb, making Brienne raise an eyebrow. She had hoped they’d fallen asleep instantly and not been up until late planning some shenanigan or something. 

“And we had an idea,” proceeds Jon. 

_Oh, Gods. What are they up to?_ she fears. Before she tries to stop them, they just start blurting out their grandiose plan. 

“Since this is technically our first day of holidays. . .” Bran starts off. 

“And yesterday we did all you wanted. . .” Rickon adds. 

“We decided that today, we’re going to do what _we_ have planned,” Sansa concludes. 

“And you are going to abide our wishes,” Gendry finishes it off. 

Brienne’s raised her hand throughout all the speech--didn’t like where they were headed from the beginning, but was unable to stop them. Now that they fall silent she can gather her thoughts. 

“First of all, I’m your governess, so you’re kind of obligated to do whatever I tell you to do,” she starts. Jon tries to interrupt her but Brienne keeps talking, raising her voice against any complaints. “Second of all, I will decide if I take part or not on whatever you lot have planned. And I will state right here and now that I am _not,_ under any circumstances, taking part in any illegal activities.” 

Her last statement gets all the children laughing--even Arya seems the suggestion of committing a crime stupid, so Brienne relaxes a little bit. Still, she doesn’t like being in the dark where the children are concerned, especially considering all the ill-mannered pranks they’re so fond of. She’s supposedly in charge, not the other way around. 

“Now that we’ve established the ground rules, are we on an agreement?” presses Robb. 

Brienne ponders for a second more, biting her lower lip. “Will I or any of you be in any danger?” 

“Of course not,” promises Jon. 

In the end, just so they can get to breakfast as soon as possible--her stomach’s been grumbling since the beginning of the discussion--she agrees. She takes Robb’s extended hand and shakes it once. All around them, the children cheer and Brienne braces herself, breathing shakily: what will they put her through? 

“So. . . Can we start with breakfast, please?” she begs. 

“Yes!” Rickon explodes, jumping in the air. “I’ll race you, Fräulein!” 

He dashes off the room before Brienne even agrees to the idea. Bran, Gendry and Arya, never to refuse a challenge, follow suit, vanishing while demanding breakfast--cereals, oatmeal, biscuits--at the top of their lungs. Behind them, Brienne shakes her head, a smile on her lips for their typical behavior of little kids, conveniently forgetting, of course, about the fruit she’ll have to peel for their breakfast. After exchanging one funny and knowing look, Brienne, Robb, Jon, and Sansa don’t waste any more time in the bedroom either. 

They join the younger siblings at the kitchen a minute later, hungry as well, sitting at a table already sticky for the milk and juice and cereals spilled. The cooks give Brienne a warm cup of coffee and she couldn’t be more grateful, since nowadays, during meals, the children no longer abide by the vow of silence imposed by the Lannister’s name. 

All seven children--no exceptions--gobble down as if there was no tomorrow, as if all the food in the world were to disappear tonight. Brienne smiles, approving that this is finally the sort of behavior she could expect from a bunch of siblings ranging from toddlers to teenagers. Albeit she spends most of the breakfast trying to read their faces and find hidden meaning in their looks and words. She’d hoped to be lucky enough to gather some clues concerning today’s activities, but they don’t let anything slip. 

The first clue she gets is the fact that Christoph is taking a rare late morning, for the children have not asked his services. Instead, the children lead Brienne out to the grounds. Rickon takes her hand, whereas Gendry and Arya are almost pushing her from behind. 

“Close your eyes!” begs Rickon. 

“No, thank you,” replies Brienne, regretting more and more letting them all in charge for today’s activities. “It’s already a surprise, so I’ll keep them open to see in advance any threats to my person.” 

“It’s not a prank,” replies Arya for the millionth time--Brienne can picture the girl rolling her eyes at her stubbornness. 

“Be as it may--”

“Come on, please!” begs Brandon. 

“Pretty please?” adds Rickon, now pulling out his sad puppy eyes and voice. Brienne curses under her breath and ends up closing her eyes against her better judgment, but she’s smiling because all the children cheer around her. Someone even draws a cloth or a scarf around her eyes for better measure. 

Two of them take her hands to lead her across the grounds. Rickon’s got her right hand, no doubt about that one, him grabbing her hand on their walks feels as comfortable as a comfy bed on a rainy night after a nightmarish day at work, but Brienne cannot tell who’s guiding her with her left hand. Whoever it is, they also feel comfortable with having the support and comfort of an adult close by. She also feels a couple of hands on her back pushing her forward. 

“Where are you taking me?” she keeps demanding every few minutes. 

“You’ll see!” Is the unanimous response she gets time and time again. 

Even though every morning she jogs around the grounds and thought she was beginning to know her way around, having her sight blocked has her absolutely confused. After a few minutes, she’s got no idea of where they’re going, not even if they’re taking her north or south. They could be dragging her back to the house, for all she knows. 

“Come on, guys!” she complains a few minutes later, feeling stupid. “Why don’t you give it up and in exchange I’ll teach you some new songs?” 

That seems to be a bargain they can barely say no to. Everyone freezes for a second, Brienne hiding the smirk as best as she can. Even with the blindfold, she can feel the children staring at each other in turn, waiting for the elders to make up their minds. She can almost hear the engine’s in everybody’s minds pondering the two options, assessing pros and cons very carefully between breaking their Father’s rules by singing or breaking their Father’s and the governesses’ rules by being in charge for one day. 

In the end, the latter wins. She’d almost expected that conclusion. 

“We can do all of that later,” says Robb. 

“Exactly!” agrees Arya right away--too excited for Brienne’s taste. 

“Let’s go!” yells Gendry, pulling her arm. Brienne sighs but gives in and allows the kids to drag her around the grounds--if she wanted to put a stop to this whole idea, she completely would be able to. 

Albeit her sight has been thwarted, or maybe because of that, all her other senses are heightened. In spite of the children’s continuous and excited chatter, perhaps to keep her from hearing anything that might spoil the surprise; she does hear the weighing of a horse. The smell also helps concur her suspicions that they’re headed for the stables, east to the mansion. 

She stops in her tracks, forcing all the kids to come to a halt as well, and their jabbering dies out easily. 

“We are _not_ going on a horse ride,” she forbids bluntly. She can still hear their crushed hopes and disappointment even if they’re so used to it that they manage to keep quiet and not utter a word. She cannot stop herself, however much it hurts her to shoot the poor children’s hopes and plans down. She then turns towards Jon, accusation in her face. “You said you weren’t going to put anyone in danger!” 

“And we aren’t,” Jon promises, waving the idea away with his hand. 

“We all know how to ride--Sansa’s an expert horseback rider, as a matter of fact.” 

Feeling stupid for not seeing the people she’s arguing with, Brienne takes the blindfold off her eyes. The hurt looks that meet her, from Bran’s to Robb’s, make her heart ache more than she could possibly confess. But there are lines to be drawn. 

“Even Brandon and Rick?” she demands. 

“Like he said, they know how to ride too,” Sansa repeats, crossing her arms. “No one will be in any harm.” 

“You work on the assumption that _I’ve_ ever ridden before in my life!” shrieks Brienne. 

They stare blankly at her. Frightened no longer, there’s astonishment and bemusement in their eyes now, making Brienne scoff once more. She’s not about to go on a rant about how their childhood, their hobbies and their lifestyle, in general, aren’t universal experiences for everyone else in the world. Then again, whether at school or their extracurricular activities, they’re permanently surrounded by children who’ve enjoyed such luxuries all their lives and who know no different, so there’s really no blaming the kids for living in their own bubble. 

“We can teach you,” suggests Sansa. 

“I’m not sure one lecture would suffice,” replies Brienne. All her life, she hasn’t been exactly adept at any sports whatsoever. Gym class was a living hell every week. Even though she was almost a foot taller than any of the boys in her class, her lack of coordination and general clumsiness meant that she was a zero to the left in basketball, football, and every other sport. Her father even convinced her to try dancing classes once, but the teacher told her that her gravitational center was so off that they’d never get a single good move out of her, didn’t matter how much they worked at it. 

“Ye of little faith,” replies Sansa, pointing back at the stables. 

Everyone follows Sansa, their spirits lifted once more now that Brienne hasn’t categorically shut down the idea--although she’s still considering it. Brienne, out of her duty as a governess, not any real wish to mount on a horse, much less ride one, takes a deep sigh, falling behind. 

When she reaches the stables, her eyes need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness and assess what’s truly going on in there. Following Sansa’s instructions, the children have scattered in order to give the horses some water, pasture, or preparing the saddles and proper equipment for a ride out, albeit Brandon and Jon are just talking in slow whispers to the horses, greeting them or asking how're they doing. 

Remaining by the entrance in case she needs to make a run for it, but also staying out of the children’s way as not to disrupt their work, Brienne stares at the seven kids' work in wonderful harmony and synchronization. And then, realizing her mistake, she counts the total occupied stables--there are only five horses here, although there’s capability for eight animals. 

“So I needn’t worry after all,” she says in a disapproval voice. 

The kids, without moving from where they stood, send her flashing smiles. 

“Actually, our suggestion was that Bran, Arya, and Rickon took the bicycles,” says Robb, drawing away a blanket that was covering a bunch of bicycles on a corner, dust flying off everywhere. Jon and Arya, who were standing nearby, start a coughing fit and get away from the area. 

“So you, Sansa and Job are riding,” nods Brienne. Still, the math doesn’t work out either. “Who else?” 

“Gendry,” supplies Jon. 

“And you, Fräulein,” Sansa finishes, straddling a horse’s mouth. “Come, this one is for you. His name is Mendel.” 

“Please, Sansa, drop it,” begs Brienne in a desperate whisper, although her feet are taking her forward. “I said--”

“How do you know you’ll be bad at it before you even try it?” Gendry supplies, standing by the next stall and caressing the other horse’s forehead. Brienne glares and almost scowls at the boy--that’s the exact phrase she used against Rickon’s complaints to do his homework the other day and promised he was too stupid to get it right. In the end, he managed to solve the problem. 

“It’s not the same,” she replies, stubborn. “An accident on a horse might be fatal. . .”

Despite her words, step after step she’s come closer to the stall, and now that she’s standing right in front of the magnificent animal, she’s at a loss for words. He’s taller than she for a change, he’s pitch black except for a single white mark below the muzzle, and his deep, dark eyes pierce her soul. 

Almost in a trance, Brienne raises a hand. Mendel scoffs at her and hits his hooves hard against the ground. 

“Yeah, that’s a big no,” scowls Brienne, retreating, hiding her hand. 

“No, it’s OK,” promises Sansa, grabbing her by the wrist before she deflects. “He just doesn’t know you. Keep your hand steady and let him come to you. Let him get used to your smell.” 

Following Sansa’s instructions, while wondering if a stallion can sense the fear in other animals, including humans, Brienne raises her hand and tries to keep it steady. Mendel looks down on her for some seconds, then lowers his head, smells her hand and then lets Brienne pet him. 

“Very good,” Sansa approves. “Go on, pet his neck and crest too. Talk to him.” 

Brienne does so, greeting Mendel softly. The horse’s first instinct is to walk away, probably wishing to trot out of the barn and away from her reach, but Brienne, listening to Sansa’s advice, freezes and stands her ground. After a few seconds, Mendel returns to her and to her hand. He’s the first man she’s ever met who’s accepted her so fast and so easily, Brienne smiles as she pets his mane. 

“Mendel as in the Austrian scientist father of modern genetics?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at Sansa. She just shrugs. 

“Yeah, well, Father named them all.” 

“There’s also Bertha, from Bertha von Suttner, the first woman to receive a Nobel Peace Prize,” Jon explains Brienne, pointing at the stall in question, “and then Gustav from Gustav Klimt, of course; Erwin from the composer Erwin Schulhoff; and Kurt, from the leader. . .” 

“Kurt Waldheim?” finishes Brienne, almost bemused now. Hadn’t pictured Mr. Lannister as such an Austrian at heart. Then again, she barely knows the man. She’s only bonded with his seven children, for what it’s worth. 

“Nicely done,” approves Robb, making Brienne scoff. A few days ago she would have believed he was making fun of her or that he was dubious she ever got any proper education, but she now understands he was simply praising her knowledge. She appreciates it with a nod of her head. 

“Well, enough chitchat,” orders Bran, hanging from Robb’s arm. “Are you ready, Fräulein?” 

“I’m still waiting for the punch line,” she whispers, truly hoping this is nothing but a big, elaborate nightmare. 

“There’ll only be joking if you don’t get on that horse,” promises Sansa. 

“Please,” begs Brienne, spinning to look at everyone dead in the eye. “Not today. I appreciate the effort, and I know where this is coming from, but I must insist. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and me mounting on that horse would be exactly the opposite. 

“We can go wherever you want to go, but I’ll take one of the bicycles. At least today. I’m not saying never, either.” 

Some seconds pass by after her words and Brienne fears if they will still force her to mount that horse. They don’t look extremely vicious on that regard, but she gets on edge as they ponder their possibilities and seconds tick by. Even Mendel starts kicking the ground and weighs in his stall, feeling the nervousness as well. 

_Would they force me? _she can’t help but ponder after about twenty seconds of silence. They don’t really know each other that well and, in spite of yesterday being a milestone on them bonding, it might not have been enough for her to refuse their wishes. 

“Fine,” accepts Sansa in the end, petting Mendel’s mane. “Gendry, will you take Mendel?” 

“Of course,” nods the boy, stepping forward too. 

Sighing in relief, Brienne falls back and lets the children sort everything out. She just leaves the barn, finding outside three bicycles on the ground. Rickon, handkerchief at hand, is now polishing them and wiping the dust off them. Brienne takes the smaller one, Brandon’s, and checks the breaks--wouldn’t want an accident concerning the one means of transportation she wasn’t scared of. It seems that someone in the household takes care of those bicycles regularly. 

A few minutes later, Jon, Robb, Sansa, and Gendry come out of the barn, dragging a horse each with a rope attached to each halter. Brienne almost rolls her eyes at the children, who are perfectly equipped for the riding ahead of them, including boots, helmets, tight jackets. She wasn’t even properly dressed for horseback riding, for Pete’s sake--she just keeps her eyes low while checking on Rickon’s seat height. Heads held high, the four kids would fit a commercial magazine somewhere. 

They look confident enough taking their horses out of the barn and mounting them as if they were just climbing some stairs--Brienne almost envies their grace. She’s got enough problems taking care of Arya, Bran, and Rickon, though. 

“You don’t want to ride?” Brienne asks the girl. 

“No,” she scoffs, mounting on her bike and pedaling away before Brienne can interrogate her further. 

“She’s not good sitting on her hands,” explains Gendry, talking from the height of his stallion--Erwin, if Brienne’s not mistaken. “You can understand she hates horses.” 

“I would have thought exactly the opposite,” says Brienne. “The speed, the thrill--”

“She simply hates riding,” Robb states. “Ever since she fell from her horse a few years back and broke her arm. You won’t see her up in any horse.” 

“And you wanted _me_ to mount on one,” scoffs Brienne. 

“There truly isn’t anything to fear from them, they’re all really tame,” Sansa defends the animals. “I won’t say that Arya got what she deserved, since she had to wear a cast for almost two months, but she was being an idiot up in Kurt. It was only a matter of time before Kurt kicked her off of him.” 

“Duly noted,” promises Brienne under her breath. 

By her side, she sees everyone already mounted on their horses or their bikes, so she takes her bicycle too. No one moves at all, albeit Arya might be miles away from the barn already, the way she took off. 

“Well, where are we going?” she asks. “You _were_ in charge today, weren’t you?” 

Their faces light up again--thought that after shooting down riding Mendel, she’d take charge of today’s excursion too. They don’t hesitate or argue about her change of mind. Sansa smiles brightly and then spurs Bertha and sets off running. Then it’s Robb and Jon, Gendry and Bran the latter. Brienne nods at Rickon to start pedaling and she’s the last of the entourage, truly letting the children guide her and lead her wherever they want to. 

Arya was waiting for them a couple of miles ahead, probably bored out of her mind due to the solitude, and joins the entourage pedaling side by side with Gendry. For a while, they just enjoy the sun bathing them, the lake to their left, the roar of the wind, settling for a pace they’re all comfortable with, as if it were just another one of their commanded afternoon walks. 

After a while, however, Sansa just can’t stop herself from putting up a little of a spectacle, dragging Jon, Robb, and Gendry with her, proving Brienne they do know what they’re doing up in their horses. Showing off a bit, they demonstrate the ‘usual’ horse gaits: walking, trotting, cantering, and galloping--some of which Brienne had never heard of. 

Then, it’s back to what Brienne knows best and can be in charge: it’s time to sing. Even though they’re a little out of breath because of the exertion, they simply cannot stop themselves. Brienne kicks it off with the “Do-Re-Mi” song she taught them yesterday, testing if they remember the lyrics and the notes, but then there’s no stopping them. Any song they suggest it’s a song they sing, whether they know the lyrics properly or not. They enjoy it so much, it’s such an explosion of joyfulness and radiant celebration, that Brienne almost feels homesick once more. It’s just so painfully obvious they’ve never known such happiness and freedom from their Father, much less any of their previous governesses. 

It takes them a few hours to return to the mansion, just in time for lunch. At Brienne’s commands, without letting the cooks and stewards stop them, the children help out settling the table at the terrace. Afterwards, they all pick up their textbooks and school supplies and attend their homework. Brienne sits between Rickon and Brandon in case they need any assistance, but once more spends half the time reflecting on the seven Lannister children. They can go wild, enjoy a marvelous morning, then sit down, and do their homework. It’s not incongruity, and it’s not impossible either. They do listen and obey, given the proper circumstances--if they bond and they like the governess in question. Talk about discipline, Mr. Lannister. There’re many ways to achieve it, and Brienne’s way does not involve being cold to seven children and running the house and their lives as if they were in the military. 

By her side, Brandon startles, making some of the pens and notebooks wobble. His siblings chuckle under their breath at his latest attempt to stay awake, but Brienne just sighs, feeling bad for pushing him beyond his limits. After two days in a row outdoors, it’s no wonder he needs a good night’s sleep. The tedious homework isn’t exactly helping. 

“Come on,” she says, taking the pen out of his hand. “You’ll finish this tomorrow.” 

She shuts all his notebooks, pulls out his chair and, instead of forcing Brandon to stand and walk all the way up to his bedroom, she just welcomes him into her arms. The little boy doesn’t think twice about it and even rests his head against the corner of her neck, feeling completely comfortable and at ease in her arms. Brienne needs to stop her brain from thinking too much into that small and probably not at all meaningless gesture. 

As she stands, everyone else jumps to their feet too. Sansa pushes some chairs out of Brienne’s way to ensure she doesn’t trip and fall with Brandon in her embrace. Arya holds open the double glass doors for her. 

“I could carry him, Fräulein,” suggests Robb. 

“No need, I can manage,” says Brienne, biting her tongue before she makes the mistake of saying ‘I’m tougher than I look’ again--she can live without being on the receiving end of the children’s judgment. “Why don’t you go ask Mia or Emma to prepare him a sandwich, in case he’s hungry later, though?” 

Robb nods, once, and dashes inside the mansion, a man tasked with an important mission to save his little brother from starvation. Brienne takes Brandon and, behind her, Rickon follows, carrying all of Rickon’s notebooks and school supplies. 

“You aren’t gonna sing, right?” Brandon asks, whine in his voice. 

“No,” Brienne laughs softly. “No, we aren’t. Tomorrow.” 

“Kay,” accepts the boy, resting his head against her shoulder again. Brienne gives him a soft peck on the hair before she realizes where she is and who she’s with, but no one seems to have realized what she’s done. She just forces her feet to keep on moving. 

In silence as not to wake him up again, they reach their bedroom on the first floor. Sansa gives Brienne a hand out taking Brandon’s jacket off as well as his shoes and tucking him in properly, whereas Gendry draws the blinders on the windows and Jon turns off the lights from the hallway and switches on the night light Bran cannot sleep without. 

“Fräulein,” says Robb then. He’s climbed up with a tray on his hands, carrying a sandwich and a glass of milk. The children let him through and Robb lays the tray on the bedside table, careful not to spill anything. Brienne sends him a warm smile as he retreats back, realizing Robb has just gone out of his way to make the sandwich himself. Had it been Mia or Emma, they’d have known to cut the sandwich diagonally, not in rectangles, and they would have cut the crusts off too. Be as it may, it was a marvelous and kind gesture from Robb, and she doesn't point it out either. 

Too many people in the room, Brienne sends everyone away. She only stays a couple more seconds to make sure Brandon’s comfortable in the bed, properly tucked in, and sound asleep, checking the lights. 

Out in the hall, the exhaustion pouring from every one of the kids makes her laugh. They can barely stand or keep their eyes open--Rickon would join Brandon into the bedroom if hunger wasn’t a little bit more compelling. Jon and Robb are leaning against each other, Sansa’s struggling not to slouch like a ‘commoner’, whereas Arya’s leaning against the veranda, her eyes closed, and just at that moment Gendry blows in her ear to wake her up. She yells and kicks Gendry’s side, forcing him to retreat in a soft laughter. Everyone shushes the two of them for Brandon’s sake. 

“Let’s have an early supper, shall we?” suggests Brienne. 

“I’ve already asked the cooks if we could have dinner earlier today,” nods Robb. Brienne needs to bite her lower lip to stop herself from correcting Robb and pointing out that the cooks have names too. Everyone seems only too eager and grateful to Brienne and their older sibling to receive an early dinner and to turn in for the night, including Arya. Brienne does order them to clear the terrace before they descend to the kitchen for dinner and, perhaps because of their exhaustion, they comply without any sort of fight. 

It’s the quietest dinner they’ve ever had since their Father left, but just this once, Brienne understands. They’ve barely got the energy to bring the forks and spoons up to their mouths, much less start a conversation, lest an argument, so she just lets it slip. Tonight, it doesn’t take her much convincing or persuasive notes to send them off to bed. 

Given the early hour, when Brienne returns to her bedroom, she phones her father. He does answer tonight. 

“Hey, Brinny. How’s my favorite daughter?” 

“Quite tired, I must confess.” 

“The kids wearing you out?” 

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” she promises. “We’ve been spending every minute together this past couple of days outdoors and we’ve all exhausted. But I think we’re finally bonding.” 

“That’s great, Brinny.” Brienne closes her eyes and pretends not to hear her father’s albeit disappointed and disapproving tone. Selwyn wishes Brienne could be at home and spend all that quality time with Podrick, the one kid who deserves her sole attention and care. Alas, he doesn’t say anything, as not to break his daughter’s heart. Also, Selwyn knows she agrees. 

“Is Pod around?” she asks. 

“He’s in bed, I think.” 

“Can Sammy put him on?” she begs. 

_Just tonight. It’s not that late, _she wishes internally. It’s been too long since she got to speak to him. She cannot possibly deny the facts: she’s spending all her days and every waking moment with a bunch of children from another family, forgetting all about her duties towards her father and Podrick, back in Vienna. 

She hears the cell phone exchanging hands, Samwell greeting her warmly, and then Sam’s steps as he leaves Selwyn's room, crosses the short hallway in semi-darkness and knocks on Podrick’s room door. The lad, half asleep already, answers. 

Back in Salzburg, Brienne hears the front door open, and before she can think of running behind whoever left, she sees a shadow leaving the mansion and running through the woods. 

_Damn Arya, is curfew just a joke to her? _

There’s little she can do now when Podrick answers the phone, sleep in his voice. Her heart aches for waking him up this late, but she couldn’t find the words to express how happy she is to speak to him again. 

“Hey, honey,” greets Brienne, her softest voice possible. “I just wanted to say goodnight. Were you going to sleep already?” 

“No,” he complains, although it is long past his bedtime. “I've got a question.” 

“Of course, you do. Fire away,” Brienne agrees, with a big smile already. 

“In the old days, was everything black and white?” 

“No, honey, it wasn’t,” Brienne supplies. Guessing Selwyn made Podrick watch one of his old movies, or maybe some old family album, and that’s what the kid got from it. “Colors have always existed and people are able to see them. Things are only black and white in movies or old photographies, d’you understand?” 

“I think so.” 

“Was that it?” 

“No! I had a list somewhere. . .” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Brienne stops him before he turns on the light and sleep evades him all night long altogether, “it’s time to go to sleep. Why don’t I sing you something?” 

“Okay,” he accepts. 

“Well, what do you want to hear?” 

It’s a stupid question and she knows it. She stops all of Podrick’s complaints with a burst of soft laughter and immediately after, she starts singing ‘My favorite things’. A low murmur, just for the two of them, and if she closes her eyes, she can almost picture herself back in Podrick’s room, knelt on the floor or lying by Podrick’s side, singing inches away from his ear while holding him close to her chest, caressing his hair tenderly. Podrick also joins in and Brienne closes her hand around the bedsheets, pretending it’s the toddler’s touch. 

Somewhere halfway through the song, Brienne hears the front door opening. She hurries outside her room to wait for Arya, but it’s pitch dark out there in the hall. The only light coming from her bedroom, she doesn’t see anyone climbing up the stairs, and it’s too late to raise her voice to call out for her. Also, Podrick requires she finish the song, lest he won’t go to sleep any time soon, so she needs to return to the bedroom as not to wake up anybody from the Staff. 

By the time she turns around, a door opens and closes down the hall. It’d make no sense to barge into Arya and Sansa’s room this late and so she finishes the song--at least she knows that the girl has returned safe and sound. 

On the other end of the line, Podrick has finally fallen asleep. Brienne wants to believe she managed to put a smile on his lips before he dozed off completely. 

“Hello again, Brienne,” Sam greets again, louder voice now that he’s presumably left Podrick’s room and shut the door behind him. “He was so tired. Want to talk to your father again?” 

“No, let him sleep too. And thank you for everything, Sam.” 

“It’s my pleasure,” he replies, a nicer and alternative version to ‘it’s my job’. He’s been taking care of her father for so long it’s hard not to consider him another member of the family already. 

“Goodnight.”

Since Arya returned home safe and sound, and she’d never hear the end of it if she woke Sansa up in the middle of the night just to make sure all seven Lannister children are tucked in bed, Brienne decides to call it a night too. She needs to rest for whatever shenanigans the kids will put her through tomorrow and every day after that. Also, if she gives Arya some space and time, she will come to her on her own terms concerning whatever the hell she’s doing so late at night out there on the grounds. 

Too tired to even spend a few minutes playing the guitar and practicing more songs for the kids, Brienne changes into her pajamas and climbs into her bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of her impending firing hovering overhead, Brienne bonds with the kids, and the kids learn to have fun and get to enjoy their summer holidays :)

“I’ve got a few more up here!!” yells Jon. 

At once Arya stands, carrying the half-empty basket with her, and runs to the tree Jon has climbed to search for more strawberries. 

“Catch them!” dares Jon--not that Arya wasn’t planning exactly that. One by one, Jon throws the strawberries at Arya, who tries to score them all inside the basket. Some miss, of course, hitting her on the dress. For the last one, Arya even attempts to catch it between her teeth, red juice splattering everywhere. She just laughs and gives Jon a hand climbing down the tree. 

Afterwards they return with the rest of the entourage, sitting on a blanket on the ground, catching their breath after a couple of hours of picking berries. Brienne hands them a canteen for them not to get dehydrated on this hot summer day. They’ve all been climbing trees, although Bran and Rickon have limited themselves to running to and fro under their siblings to grab and score all the berries the others threw from the heights, have been running wild and playing games without a care in the world. 

In retrospect, Brienne concludes that it was a good idea to get them new clothes. They would never have done any of this had they still worn their uniforms--otherwise known as straight jackets--and been worried to wrinkle or stain them. On the other hand, it did sting her pockets, it was a budget she couldn’t really afford, but what the hell. It’s good to make a sacrifice once in a while. Seeing the children having so much fun, without a care in the world, without bearing in mind every single second of the day that they need to uphold the family’s name with their every action and the way they speak and behave, it’s almost a reward in itself. She can only picture Podrick’s smile and delight as well when she buys him a toy or a special candy she knows she shouldn’t have. Over the last few weeks, they’ve been doing everything and gone everywhere with those clothes. More excursions up to the hills, horseback riding, cycling, rowing. . . 

The more time she spends with them, the less and less Brienne understands all the previous governesses--and to be honest, Mr. Lannister himself as well. How can he spend so much time away from home? Away from his children? 

The past week she’s been subjected to some pranks from the children, yes, but not only had she expected and accepted them graciously, she also counterattacked. 

They set off her phone’s alarm clock at four in the morning and she responded by taking thirty extra minutes picking them up for their sports practice. The night they took her music CDs and played them at full volume an hour after they were supposed to be asleep, she only offered them fruit for breakfast and vegetables for dinner and lunch. The day they all purposefully got their homework wrong, she sent them off to dinner and then to sleep without any bedtime stories or singing lessons. It’s simple and square bargaining, one she’s a pro at. The kids only realized so after it was too late. 

And the fact that competent governesses couldn’t stand a few harmless pranks is beyond comprehension. She doesn’t know how highly recommended they were, they were simply incompetent and to some degree, Brienne has come to the conclusion Mr. Lannister was right in firing them all. They were taking care of seven children, toddlers and teenagers, they were strangers imposed by one Father who’s barely ever at home because of work and his trips--did all those professionals and collected governesses really expect the children to go easy on them? 

Of course, she doesn’t know what the children put them all through, maybe she’s just drawn the lucky straw. But no one should fail to see how charming and wonderful they all are, to one another and also to her. They respect her--the core for their continued pranking, after all--they obey her when she needs to take charge, but they also feel important as she allows them to speak up, make suggestions on what they want to do a certain day and she lets them debate and decide, whenever possible. They need an adult for comfort, reassurance and guidance, someone who at times tells them what to do and how to do it, but they also need their own space and time to grow, to make their own decisions and not to be belittled because of that. 

And this is exactly what she’s tried to give them. Through the songs, through the bedtime stories, through the crafts they take part in some afternoons, through letting them have a voice of their own. They, of course, also react to the way Brienne treats them. They still beg her to read bedtime stories and to play and sing every song that comes up in their minds at a certain moment, but at the same time, they all look and sound more mature than ever, daring to argue with her whenever she suggests something they do not agree with, and at the same time, they act like the toddlers and teenagers they are who didn’t exactly have a normal childhood. They play, joke, prank and argue like any other bunch of siblings. 

Robb has sometimes joined her on her morning jogging, afterwards helping his other siblings wake up, change and get ready for breakfast. It was during one of those early mornings where Robb slipped. It was so casual and ordinary that Brienne didn’t even register what he’d told her after Robb had remained silent for almost a minute and she stopped her jogging to look at him in the eye. He looked so appalled that it frightened Brienne, and she needed a few seconds to know they were talking about Robb’s siblings--what else would they talk about--only, Jon and Gendry aren’t his biological siblings. 

“Come on, I’m this close to beating my personal record,” she complained. An excuse, really, for them to resume jogging as if nothing had happened. Robb took it without a word, and the subject hasn’t been brought up ever again since, privately or in the company of the other kids. 

It just doesn’t matter, Brienne wanted to say, but knew it’d only upset Robb more. It didn’t make a difference. Jon and Robb act like inseparable brothers most of the time, and honestly, the same goes for Gendry and all Lannister children.

Sansa, Jon, and Robb have started some kind of reading club and have debates on their readings after dinner. For now she’s heard them talk about Frankenstein and Jane Eyre. Robb and Jon put up a show on the boats, practicing rowing, and that day, they did all sorts of competitions on three sporting categories: rowing, riding, cycling. 

As for Jon, he’s trying to teach Brienne about chess. Not that she didn’t know about chess, but she’d barely ever played, and Brandon could probably beat her. She can’t endure more than a couple of games per night, however. 

They also tried giving her riding lessons, which left Brienne with her arse sore and corns on her feet and callus on her hands. Her whole body ached so much afterwards, she was unable to dismount poor Mendel--Jon had to help her down that first day, and all the children convinced her to take the afternoon off. They made her sit down on a couch down in the living room and helped her take care of her injuries. She woke up a couple hours later, finding the children back at the terrace, all doing their homework. Brienne did check in case they’d prepared some sort of prank in the meantime against her or any other member of the household, but no surprises came up, and she relaxed after a while. 

To compensate for the training she’s receiving, Brienne, in exchange, is also trying to teach the kids important values, and so she’s putting them to the test now and then. One day she makes them tidy and clean their rooms. Another, she orders them to prepare their breakfast and then wash the dishes. The next day, she makes them take care of the horses and the stables. Albeit she’d expected a mutiny coming from the children, only a few complaints were heard before they tackled each task efficiently and collaboratively--passing each and every task with flying colors, she might add. 

_Talk about discipline, Mr. Lannister, _she thought again. She can’t help but wonder what would the man think if he could see the children right now. She’s not naïve enough to believe she won’t get fired either way, whatever she does, but still, the record shows no prior governess managed to get such phenomenal results from the kids as she did. That’s got to mean something. 

After some encouraging from Brienne, Rick showed his siblings his paintings and is now relishing his favorite hobby every other afternoon. Gendry turns out to be impressively good at any manual crafts, whether it is origami, painting, crafts with egg cartons or making structures with wood. When they made a reproduction of the Earth on a globe, or a reproduction of Austria on a wooden tray and play dough, his were always the best models. Arya doesn’t even come close to his arts, but she still stays around him and helps him out whenever he asks for it. 

In spite of the pranks Brienne’s been victim of, Arya’s rarely the instigator anymore. She takes part in them, of course, but not out of malice and hatred. And everyone in the whole world would call that an improvement--and a miracle too, maybe. Overall, Brienne’s been more successful than all her predecessors. So far. She’ll be fired the minute Mr. Lannister returns home, so she doesn’t spend her days congratulating her efforts. 

Their bonding is especially noticeable in the smaller children. One night Brandon had a nightmare and went to look for her in her bedroom. Brienne held him tight and kissed away his tears as he sobbed because of the monsters of the night. Brienne told him one of the lines that most helped Podrick back in the day. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, honey. The monster under the bed watches after you at night and chases away your nightmares. You’ll see.” 

After that, Bran didn’t need much time to fall asleep, and Brienne allowed him a rare late morning while she and his siblings went out for a walk around the grounds. 

There was Rickon’s birthday party, of course, which they spent doing all the things Rickon wanted to do. That involved breakfast in bed, an excursion out in the mountains, baking a cake since Brienne had declared it’d taste a thousand times better than just ordering something from a professional baker, and, of course, it also included lots of singing. Brienne almost suggested to play on the piano, just because she’s dying to play on that magnificent instrument that looks so lonely in that room, but she kept quiet. Perhaps there’ll be time. Probably not, but that’s not the children’s problem. She did convince the household members to join in singing songs such as ‘Happy birthday’ to the boy and then some, which astonished all the children, Rickon included. They’d never heard any of the service members sing, such as the stewards had never heard the children singing before. 

Only time will tell if this connection and bonding she’s managed to achieve with the kids will be positive or disastrous. They may not realize so yet, but their time together has a finish line, that is, the moment their Father comes back. And, on the other hand, Brienne can’t help but remind herself that she’s still got Podrick back at home. A ten-year-old child she hasn’t seen again since she left for this job and with whom she’s spoken once a week, being generous. Some, and by some she means her own father, would say that she’s spending way too much time and investing too many feelings towards children that are not her own, trying to solve problems that are none of her business. 

Just to cope and endure the whole situation, once a week Brienne goes meet Loras and Renly after dinner for a drink--or two. Even back in Vienna she always made time for a break every now and then. Some adult company and conversation away from work can make a difference, even if they spend the time talking about Renly’s job at his law firm, Loras’ job at the local newspapers, or the latest gossip around the neighborhood. It’s refreshing, and it gives Brienne enough strength to weather another week. 

One night, as she’s returning to the Mansion from Loras’ and Renly’s, she catches Arya sneaking out again. 

“Hey! Wait up!” she orders, maybe a bit too tipsy to realize she shouldn’t be yelling. The girl, however, doesn’t listen, and instead sets off running. Brienne attempts to follow her, but clumsiness plus drinking leads to her tripping over her own feet and falling face-first to the ground. By the time she stands, the girl’s long gone. Wandering the woods in her state trying to find Arya would be suicidal, so against better judgment, Brienne returns to the mansion. 

Cursing the little girl and also her damned Father, Brienne goes to her room to grab her book and goes down to the living room to wait for Arya. She’s given her plenty of time and space to consider her options and come forward. This time, they do need to talk about her late-night outings. It’s not safe for a nine-year-old, almost ten now, to be out there in the darkness. Doesn’t matter if she puts herself through enough trouble all on her own and always comes out unscathed, Brienne simply cannot let it go on any further. If it comes to that, she’ll be forced to contact Mr. Lannister about it--a prospect she knows Arya dreads almost as much as she does. 

Exhaustion catching up fast, the letters soon start to dance and blur in front of her eyes, her eyelids heavier by the minute. She decides to stretch her legs and inspect some of the first-floor rooms, some of which she hasn’t stepped foot yet. 

She finds a room she assumes to be some sort of ballroom destined for parties, another living room with a grandiose piano that she refuses to play only because of the late hour and then a Library. She’s never own a library and it leaves her speechless. The public library’s the only place she’s ever stepped foot on, and that’s where she took all the books she’s ever read from, so there’s no comparison to be made, really. This right here is the biggest collection she’s ever seen in her life, and she was sleeping on top of it all this time? So unfair. 

Walking up and down the room, Brienne caresses some of the books, feeling the leather covers, taking in the old book smell filling the room. There are even some books on display protected in glass cabinets--first editions, perhaps? It’s too dark to read the titles, but she isn’t really looking for any specific author or title to catch her eye. Now and then she randomly picks a book and opens its pages carefully, stroking the lines with shaky hands, the words and the meanings invisible in the darkness. 

At some point, it begins to rain and Brienne scowls, worried that Arya should return and go to bed with her clothes and hair damp and wake up with a cold, something she’d like to avoid at all costs. Robb’s limp got better and there was no need to call a doctor or Mr. Lannister because of it. Because of that, she would like to avoid all contacts with the man if possible. 

Given that she cannot exactly go out there as well and look for the girl, not now, anyway, at the risk of getting lost or catching a cold herself, Brienne stays where she is. She’s too enthralled by the Library, either way, more books surrounding her than she’ll ever possess. The lightning sheds some light from time to time into the room, letting her get an occasional glimpse of an author or a title. 

Finally, the front door opens and Brienne turns on a lamp to let her know that her escape hasn’t gone amiss tonight. 

“Arya, can we talk?” 

Outside, the hurried steps that were headed towards the dormitories freeze. Brienne holds her breath, just as she can picture Arya doing, while pondering her possibilities for some long, endless seconds: make a run for it and have Brienne chase after her throughout the house, or surrender. When she accepts defeat and, with heavy steps, descends the stairs, Brienne silently appreciates her surrender and steps out to the hall to wait for Ary. . . 

_“Sansa?”_ she shrieks. 

The girl, looking appropriately ashamed and put out, keeps her head held high, blushing slightly, as she descends the few remaining steps. Brienne’s at a loss for words temporarily, without a clue of what to say or how to react. She feels so bad now, too. She’d just assumed it was Arya all along. . . 

She only needs a few seconds to compose herself, however. Sansa might not be her daughter and she might have no idea whatsoever of what to do or say in this circumstance, but all those children are within her care currently, and that means something. Sansa needs to understand that actions have consequences. She spends her days seeing Arya being told off and chastised for her pranks and her shenanigans--she needs to understand the rules apply to her too. 

“Were you out all by yourself?” she demands. 

Sansa tries to nod an affirmative answer at first. After one stern look from Brienne, however, her head just shakes from side to side. Brienne sighs, her hands on the waist, uncertain if it’s better that Sansa was accompanied out there in the grounds, in the pouring rain, or not. She’s still got to decide. 

“Are you going to tell Father?” Sansa begs in a whisper. 

“Come to my room,” orders Brienne. She walks past Sansa and starts climbing the stairs, when Sansa spins on her heels. 

“You may have failed to notice; I’m too old to have a governess,” she shrieks. 

“That’s fine for me. We can be friends or, better yet, awkward acquaintances,” settles Brienne, grabbing her by the wrist. “I only invited you to my room so we may have a talk in private, and also to give you something to change into before you catch pneumonia.” 

Probably surrendering to the cold, for Sansa was literally shivering before her eyes, the girl follows her to her room, without uttering a single syllable--which suits Brienne fine, if she’s spared judgment and criticism. Up there, Brienne hands her a nightgown and a jumper. The pieces of clothing do get an incredulous, nearing disgust look, and so Brienne just snaps at Sansa and points to the bathroom, leaving no more room for discussion. She cringes at Sansa slamming the door shut out of spite. 

“Do not forget to dry your hair, please,” she calls out through the door. 

She then lies on her bed and waits for Sansa, resting against the wall. After more than twenty minutes without her coming out, she’s sure Sansa’s wasting time deliberately, maybe in a futile attempt not to have this exact conversation, but man did she get that wrong. 

“Don’t think I’m beneath crawling out after you and drag you back over my shoulder if you try fleeing through the window, missus.” 

She was fairly certain that Sansa wouldn’t retort to such infantile ideas, she just needed to put the image out there of them both climbing out of the window--Sansa’s would never resort to that option, she knows that much. After that, Sansa comes out of the bathroom almost immediately, but no more actions or words follow. Almost thirty seconds pass by, Sansa standing there avoiding Brienne’s eye, Brienne sat on the bed against the wall. 

“Who were you out with?” she demands in the end, knowing they both can stand there for a long time yet until one of them surrenders. 

“Ramsay. He’s the neighbor’s son,” explains Sansa. For some reason, Brienne had expected her to put a stronger fight, deny to answer any of her questions, try to flee this room and return to her bedroom and avoid the subject altogether for days on end until Brienne’s patience expired. But Sansa almost blurts out her answer, to her own surprise. 

“Not Renly and Loras’ kid, right?” asks Brienne, eyebrows frowned. She doesn’t remember them mentioning anything about adopting any children, but then again, to her shame and dismay, there was a _lot_ of alcohol involved. 

“No,” denies Sansa, surprised that Brienne should know those neighbors at all. “No, they live to the east. The Boltons live to the west.” 

“I see. And Ramsay’s. . . How old?” 

“This sounds like a conversation I should have with Father,” complains Sansa. 

“Will you?” demands Brienne, raising an eyebrow. 

Her silence and pouting face are far better than a thousand-words essay answer from the girl. Brienne nods once, understanding. Sansa would never talk about something that much personal with her Father when they can barely have a normal conversation as it is. 

“Will you tell him?” demands Sansa, rubbing her hands nervously. 

“Not unless you make me to,” promises Brienne. 

From what she’s seen, she gathers the children are much at ease when their Father isn’t around, and she would like to avoid calling Mr. Lannister and summoning him back from his trip earlier than expected just to punish Sansa. She would never put Sansa or any other of the kids under such a difficult position. But she needed to put all the cards on the table--Mr. Lannister is Sansa’s Father, and is also Brienne’s employer, so he should be aware of anything that’s going on with his children. 

“So, please, may we talk about him? Don’t you want to?” 

The way Sansa bites her lower lip, the sparkle in her eyes. . . Brienne smiles, knowing she’s hit the jackpot. Oh, Sansa’s dying to tell someone, anyone. No one in the world, except maybe some friend of hers at school, knows about Ramsay. Arya would never sit down long enough to listen and the others couldn’t care less. 

“Come here.” Brienne invites her over with a wave of her hand and Sansa jumps onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it ! :) For those wondering--yes, Jaime's still in Vienna with Baroness Cersei!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids thrive on Brienne's teachings about life and music. However, they all knew in advance their little bubble of joy would burst eventually.
> 
> Hope you like this !!

_ Many a thing you know you’d like to tell her_  
_Many a thing she ought to understand. _  
_But how do you make her stay_  
_And listen to all you say?_  
_How do you keep a wave upon the sand? _

Brienne wouldn’t call herself a teacher or a lecturer. Sure, she can put up with taking care of seven children, and some would say that is quite a success already, but that doesn’t qualify her to teach anything to anyone. 

And yet, the progress the kids have made in front of her very eyes is astonishing. Arduous and long, she won’t deny that, but also such a funny and fulfilling process. Step by step, she’s trying to teach the children all she knows about singing and music. 

“Now, children, Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So and so on are the tools we use to build a song,” she began her first lecture, the day after her very first horseback riding experience, when the kids literally begged her to teach them to sing. After breakfast, she took the guitar and they went out to the grounds, so no member of the household would hear them practice and snitch on them--the kids, and to be honest, also Brienne, are still concerned about Mr. Lannister’s reaction to them learning how to sing. “Once you have them in your head you can sing a million different tunes by mixing them up! Like this.” 

She started with a short melody, seven single notes, and the kids repeated them. 

“Now, put it all together.” 

_So-Do-La-Fa-Mi-Do-Re, _  
_So-Do-La-Ti-Do-Re-Do_

“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Arya complained. 

“So we put in words: one word for every note,” explained Brienne. “Like this.” 

_ When you note the notes to sing, _  
_You can sing most anything! _

She used the one song they’d already learned for two main reasons: one, to check that they truly knew the song and were able to sing properly, that it wasn’t just a product of her imagination or worse, pure sheer luck. And two, Brienne knows, thanks to Podrick, that learning by practical methods turns out to be that much easier. And it was. Soon enough they were ready to make up their own words to that song, and she had each of the kids, however much time they needed, come up with new lyrics to ‘Do-Re-Mi’. Since then, every day they’ve been singing and practicing new songs. 

They’ve gone over major and minor scales, arpeggios, chords, and cadences--or tried to, at any rate. It’s difficult teaching anything at all when the pupils have such different musical, mathematics, and overall academic knowledge. That’s why, when they sit down to tackle some plain and simple summer holidays homework, whenever she can, Brienne gets the elder siblings to help the youngsters. With Bran, Rickon, Arya, and Gendry, they’re still working the different scales on the piano and trying as hell to avoid dissonances that’ll make everybody cringe. 

As per the elder siblings, Brienne’s achieved some remarkable success, if she may say so herself with pride in her voice. They’re slowly learning to play the guitar. Sansa’s usually complaining how her fingers hurt after trying to stretch them so far, but she’s mastered half a dozen songs already as it is. Jon’s got an uncanny ability for improvisation and coming up with songs and melodies on the spot, unknowingly using the appropriate arpeggios and chords that don’t make everybody’s ears bleed. Robb, on the other hand, has an uncanny imagination to provide every one of Jon’s songs with funny lyrics and rhymes. 

_ How do you solve a problem like Miss Tarth?_  
_How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?_  
_How do you find a word that means Miss Tarth?_

It all started as a private joke with Sansa. They’ve been having these late-night chitchats over Ramsay Bolton and, to be honest, everything else the girl would like to discuss. Holed up in Brienne’s room, sharing biscuits and any other snacks, almost no subject is off-limits now. 

“I really think I need to apologize to Arya,” Brienne confessed one night, blushing in the soft light of her bedside lamp. “I truly believed it was her and not you, sneaking out so often in the middle of the night. You, breaking curfew?” 

“I know. I’m sorry I lied,” Sansa replied, avoiding Brienne’s eye for a second. “But you shouldn’t apologize. It’s a sign of weakness. Plus, Arya would never let you live it down.” 

_What sort of education have they received that they do not think as constructive to apologize to people when they’ve done something wrong? _ Brienne wondered as she let Sansa have yet another biscuit. Even so, Brienne did never apologize to Arya. 

And so, Brienne used some lines and critics she’d heard Sansa say about her and turned them all into a song: like the time she criticized her hair, or her worn-out dress, or simply the way she walked. Sansa quickly caught up, added some new lines, and learned the song. Only problem, next morning she sang it in front of her siblings, so of course they all wanted to hear it and learn the song as well. 

Before it became an excuse to embarrass Brienne, she got everyone involved. All the kids pitched in and they wrote a song about each other’s tellings, habits, nervous tics, and skills. Robb’s athletic and his song-writing skills. Robb and Jon’s never-ending competitions over chess and sports and any other match. Rickon’s drawings and paintings, or the drama club they’ve pretty much founded with all their puppet shows. Sansa’s ever-present collectedness and perfection, albeit she did fall the other day as she was trying a new pair of shoes with heels--and her siblings will never let her live it down. All of Gendry’s handcrafts and how his mind always seems to be filled with different worlds and universes, and that he’s always up to any of Brienne’s or Arya’s suggestions. Arya’s proneness to shenanigans, the way she will defend her younger and older siblings against any threat, and how she likes books about fantastic adventures, pirates and treasure hunters. Brandon's curiosity, the fact that he’s always asking about everything, all the time; or how amusing it is when, at nights, he refuses to go to sleep and then ends up falling asleep within .2 seconds. 

_ How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? _

They’ve tilted the song ‘How do you solve a problem like’ and then blank, adding in the name of whoever they’re singing about at the moment, whether it is Brienne herself or any of the children. And pretty much every time they break into song with this one tune, the lyrics change and adapt depending on recent events, or successes that happened way before Brienne got to the house, but that she’s been caught up with easily. 

Brienne jumps and looks over to Sansa, who has just failed at the line she was supposed to be playing. Bran, Gendry, and Rickon just stare in awe at their siblings--too young to even hold the guitar properly--and haven’t noticed anything, but Brienne and the two older brothers certainly did hear that out of tune note. 

“I don’t believe that’s a ‘Si’ dim, Sansa,” says Brienne. “Try again.” 

Her tongue wets her lips in an attempt to remember the proper chord, as she looks down on the fingers over the guitar strings. The younger siblings pull closer to encourage her, and Sansa tries to place her fingers correctly, but after a few attempts, they all know she’s just guessing. 

“Remember, the index finger goes over there. . .” Brienne points out. 

Over those late-nights conversations and snacks, they’ve been bonding more than either woman would never have predicted--more than Mr. Lannister could ever have predicted. Brienne’s giving her a safe and comfortable space to speak up and pour her heart out if she wants to, free of judgment and critical analysis. 

In exchange, Sansa helps her out sometimes. Brienne’s understood that all of Sansa’s judgemental looks and snide remarks can actually help her dress more accordingly to Lannister’s standards, and Sansa is slowly learning not to criticize but to give constructive judgment--in what to wear and what colors or pieces of clothing go together, what to say, how to behave. Not really a ‘before and after’ project, for there’s no force on Earth that could change Brienne Tarth, and Sansa knows she’s a force not to be reckoned with, but still, they make progress. 

“Oh, I give up,” scowls Sansa in the end. 

“Who wants to give it a try?” asks Brienne, taking the guitar before Sansa takes her frustration out on the instrument--one of Brienne’s most valued possessions. “Robb?” 

Out in the mountains, there’s no one to hear them and there’s no one they could bother if they spend the whole day up here playing and practicing. It’s not the first time Brienne takes them out for a whole day with her guitar. Away from the Mansion and all the lectures and scolding they’ve received from their Father, away from the judgmental looks and remarks they could receive from the household members, the kids have learned they can let their hair down. They’re so much more at ease up here, thrilled and free, and they don’t fear acting exactly like the kids that they are. And so, Brienne delivers the guitar to Robb, to let him have a try at the song, before delivering the guitar to Jon, who would undoubtedly have no trouble with that chord. 

That afternoon, for they return a bit too late and Brienne wouldn’t want to force Mia or Emma to cook for eight people this late in the evening, she just goes ahead and orders pizzas in--not for the first time either. 

“Movie night!!” the kids yell in delight. 

It happened for the first time the day after the children had confessed they’d never seen Disney’s Mulan movie, or that many children animated movies, for that matter. Brienne forbade Mia and Emma from cooking anything, she ordered pizza, she prepared an unreasonable amount of microwave popcorn, and she and the kids settled at the home cinema room. Ever since, they’ve been doing so once or twice a week, depending on their behavior--which does not mean Brienne prohibits ‘movie night’ every time she’s the victim of a prank, because that is not it. 

“What’s it going to be, then?” she asks. 

She splits the children so they can kill two birds in one stone with the decision making: half choose the movie, half the pizzas. Of course, the decisions do need to be accepted by the other part, but usually they agree--or can discuss the other team’s decisions and come to an agreement in the end. 

Holed up in the darkness of the cinema room, with their pizzas and their popcorn, they lie down to watch Hercules. Throughout the movie, Brandon literally falls asleep on her lap and doesn’t wake up at all as she takes him upstairs to his room, so the six remaining children can keep on watching the movie. However, Rickon’s the next one to fall asleep midway through the movie and Brienne carries him to bed as well. 

As she tucks him in properly, the kid gives her a kiss on the cheek. She doesn’t know how to react, and luckily there were no witnesses--Brandon’s sound asleep already--and Brienne just leaves the room without mentioning it to anybody. 

There in the hallway, it dawns on her that being away from her family again on the second Saturday of July has affected and possibly softened her more than she’d thought. She’s being stupid, she knows that much, and shouldn’t let anything along those lines happening again. Still, after the movie ends, she spends a good ten minutes crying in her room, without answering the calls from her father or Margaery. 

The kids all just feel so comfortable and at ease, with her and around her that simple gestures like that one feel normal and not at all awkward--at least for the children--so Brienne must have been doing something good the past few weeks. 

The next day, without bearing in mind swallowing her sorrows exactly, she takes them all to Jorah’s bakery for an afternoon break. They seem dubious at first stepping into a small bakery they’d never heard of before which doesn’t appear in the top five Salzburg bakeries they used to frequent, but they trust Brienne enough already to try out some of the cookies on display. As a matter of fact, it’s Sansa the first one to encourage her siblings to give it a try, and Gendry promptly joins her inside. 

“Come on, we never know how good they are until we try them!” says Sansa. 

As Robb, Jon and Sansa take charge of gathering a few tables and carrying the muffins, cookies, and drinks there, Brienne introduces herself to the baker as friends of Renly’s and Loras’. Jorah knows exactly who she’s talking about, and maybe because of that, he gives her a very generous discount when her credit card is rejected three times. 

“Give Renly and Loras my best,” said Jorah with a warm smile, trying to distract Brienne from the embarrassment, seeing her cheeks all blushed. She would have bought them some cookies had she had the money, too. 

“I will. Thank you, Jorah.” 

“Anytime.” 

She certainly enjoys the cookies and the tea, and the children do as well. On their way out, Sansa thanks Jorah for the wonderful biscuits and then everyone--except Arya, that was--follows her suit, so all six children bid farewell by praising Jorah’s talents. All the cafeteria hears them and joins in, making Mr. Mormont blush and take a bow in front of all the clients. 

She does meet Loras and Renly a couple of nights later, and honor forces her to apologize for showing up empty-handed--especially when she visited Jorah’s bakery with the children to their request. They could care less as Renly takes their own jar of Jorah’s cookies for snacks and Loras is charged with preparing a few cosmopolitans. 

The conversation, inevitably, falls back to the kids and her growing relationship with them, as well as her singing lessons. Brienne reckons it’s as good a time as any, and seizes the chance to inquire something she should have asked about ages ago: Ramsay. Brienne wanted to figure out all there was to know about the boy in a relatively safe space, before she needs to address the subject with Mr. Lannister himself. He might not even give her the chance to do so when he returns, and she needs to know if there’s anything to worry about. 

The fact that both men keep quiet for a beat or two is the first sign that she does need to be worried about the boy. She straightens, breaking a sweat, and looks alternatively between Loras and Renly, waiting to see who’s going to speak up first. 

“The best piece of advice we can give you is to stay away from that boy,” says Loras. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” presses Brienne when he remains quiet for so long. 

“Well, there are rumors,” grants Loras. 

“Rumors such as--?” Brienne asks. 

“You know how unreliable rumors can prove to be,” he says, waving the whole conversation away with his hand. “They tend to exaggerate things so much.” 

“Even so,” Brienne tries to insist, but once more Renly nips the subject in the bud. 

“I wouldn’t speak ill of the boy when we don’t even know him. He’s just a very peculiar young man, that’s all.” 

It’s a sore subject, Brienne can tell that much, as well as the fact that Renly does not want to talk about Ramsay any longer. She lets it go--for now. If she were to say that Sansa’s in a relationship with the young Bolton, she fears that, too, would become the neighborhood’s gossip, and Sansa wouldn’t forgive her. 

Instead of antagonizing the girl who’s just barely opening up to her, Brienne uses one of their late nights chats to try to talk to Sansa. The girl’s completely smitten, to Brienne’s dismay--of course, it’s a first girl’s love. Without any concrete proof to give her and make her land on Earth, Brienne decides not to burst her bubble, at least for now, until she’s got reasonable doubts. Next step will be talking to her Father, and that would upset Sansa as well to unknown degrees. 

“Just. . . Be careful,” she begs to wrap up the conversation. “Let me know if I can be of any help. And, should anything happen, anything at all, you come straight to me, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Fräulein,” nods Sansa. Brienne sighs deeply, regretting Sansa doesn’t understand at all, and that she’ll draw the wrong conclusions. There’s little more she can do at the moment, except keeping an eye on the girl until she falls, and comfort her when she eventually does. 

In the meantime, they can just live every day to the fullest, enjoy every day’s adventures with her siblings. 

They fall into a comfortable routine where no day is identical to the prior, or to the next one. Every night during dinner they agree on what they’re going to do come morning, and most days Brienne allows the kids deciding, without interrupting much--except to point out bad weather conditions to go to the mountains, or the fact that they do need to do some homework now and then. There are some common things, however: the music, the laughter, the happiness the seven children exude every hour of every day. Whether they go riding, rowing, go to the city or to the mountains, Brienne never leaves her guitar at the Mansion. 

“Fräulein Brienne.” Housekeeper Schmidt comes to look for her one morning in the kitchen, as she was having her usual coffee. 

“Yes?” Brienne answers, a bit nervous, rubbing her hands together. She hasn’t had much contact with the household members and it may not be good news. After all, Mr. Lannister could have decided to get rid of her through Frau Schmidt or Franz, just as he did revoke her day off at the beginning of the month. 

“Mr. Lannister has sent note. He will be back sometime next week.” 

“Oh,” is Brienne’s only answer. Well, he was due back someday, she guesses. Her firing was supposed to happen eventually. Although he’s taken her sweet ass time away, without a single phone call to his children or to check in on them through her in the whole weeks he’s spent in Vienna. “With the Baroness?” 

“Presumably. You know, I shouldn’t be saying this to you, I don’t know you that well,” she proceeds, although she’s twitching and itching to tell Brienne the latest gossip. “But if you ask me, I believe Mr. Lannister’s thinking seriously about marrying the Baroness before the summer is over.” 

Well, that’s a piece of news the kids can live without, decides Brienne. Albeit it’s really not her place to have an opinion on Mr. Lannister’s personal life, she will let the man deal with that particular subject whenever he’s back. She’s got enough on her plate already by informing the children that their Father will return shortly. She delivers the news to the children after breakfast too, considering they'd take the news better with their stomachs full. 

If food has made them any more agreeable and open-minded, it barely shows. After Brienne explains the situation, the kids stare at her blankly, mouths open, in stunned silence almost as if they’d forgotten their Father was due to be back someday as well. None of the children look remotely happy upon the news, quite the opposite, really. Surprised, confused and maybe a bit forlorn, Brienne needs to take a deep breath and settle herself in order not to agree with their feelings. They shouldn’t be in mourning or depressed because of their Father’s return. 

“Now that the celebrations are over,” she starts, “why don’t we prepare a welcome back gift for your Father and the Baroness?” 

“Father doesn’t like surprises,” Sansa supplies. 

“Maybe he’ll like this one. You did too, after all,” Brienne replies with a smile, taking her guitar. Homework forgotten for the time being, she tunes the guitar and asks if anyone’s got any suggestions to sing today. 

Today, Brienne has the hardest time compelling the children into doing anything. Go out for their walk, riding, rowing, singing. . . All her suggestions fall into deaf ears, and in order for them to actually hear her commands and follow her instructions, she must spend her whole day raising her voice and repeating herself over and over again, even in order to fulfill the easiest and daily tasks. This time unconsciously, they mess all the lyrics and notes in their songs, they’re incapable of settling the table properly, they can barely tell what’s north and south when they go out for their walk. She doesn't even mention the word homework at all, lest she's faced with a head-on riot. This isn’t the kind of reaction a Father wants to see from his children after more than a month apart. Then again, she wouldn’t exactly expect celebrations, hugs, kisses, and presents if she was Mr. Lannister, either. 

“Come on, time to bed,” she orders after dinner, when it becomes obvious that no amount of reading nor dramatics will entertain the kids tonight. And sure enough, not a single one of them raises any kind of complaint concerning going to bed at such an early hour. They don’t even ask her for any bedtime stories or songs, that’s how depressed they are--it just wouldn’t cheer them up. 

As she tried to follow the younger kids to their bedrooms, she realizes that the elder siblings might be her biggest problem today. They might not have argued about bedtime, but Jon, Robb, and Sansa stay behind at the salon. Figuring the’ll be alright for five more minutes, Brienne lets the other four children go upstairs unchaperoned. 

Arms crossed, standing in the middle of the salon, the three look as uncomfortable and nervous as it gets. Brienne closes the door to provide them with a sense of intimacy and steps in front of them all. 

“Something on your mind?” she asks, feigning innocence. There’s a lot in their minds, granted, and most of it concerns the news of their Father returning.

“Have we ever told you that you’re not like any other governesses we’ve had before?” Sansa asks. 

“It may have come up sometime,” nods Brienne, fighting a smile. 

“Well, you aren’t,” confirms Robb. “Which we’ve learned to see is very good news.” 

“We’ve enjoyed every minute we’ve spent with you,” says Jon, “and that’s never happened before with any previous governess.” 

“Thank you,” appreciates Brienne. “Your point being?” 

“We realize that, whatever our feelings might be, Father will probably disapprove of your methods and how we spent our days while he wasn't here to supervise us,” says Sansa, her voice low and shy. 

_Oh, he disapproves alright,_ Brienne scowls, but since the kids have no knowledge of that meeting between her and Mr. Lannister on the eve of him leaving for Vienna, she remains silent about it. Wouldn’t want to discourage them any further. 

“Having that in mind, we realize what his response might be--” 

“_Will_ be,” Jon interjects Robb under his breath. “We know how he’ll react. And in the name of the Seven, we promise you, we’ll try our best to stop Father from doing it.” 

_These poor kids, _sighs Brienne. _Have never faced their Father in their lives and now they’re willing to do so for a commoner. Just because they’ve learned about music, songs, and joy. _Life’s been so unfair on them all, and it all started the moment they lost their dear mother. 

She smiles politely, taking Sansa’s hand for reassurance. 

“You don’t know what’s going to happen,” she says. 

“I’m afraid we do,” Robb insists. 

“No one can predict the future,” Brienne says, fighting Robb’s stubbornness with her own vehemence, too. “Whatever happens, we all will get through it. I’ll help you in any way I can when the time comes, I promise. 

“But I do not wish you to do anything you may not be comfortable with, not for me, is that understood?” she presses, looking at all three of them in the eye in turn. 

“Yes, Fräulein,” they say, cold, disappointed voices. 

Heads dropped, the three siblings wish her goodnight and leave the salon. At their backs, Brienne leaves them to their own devices, hoping they’ll be responsible enough to send to sleep any of their younger siblings. For years, Mr. Lannister leaving Salzburg and leaving the kids with a governess didn’t make much of a difference in their behavior, but now she’s turned their world upside down, and they fear the return of their Father will screw it all up again. She never meant for that to happen. 

_At least there’s a whole week until their Father’s return with the Baroness and their uncle Tyrion, _sighs Brienne, fear in her whole system, as Sansa shuts the door. Perhaps she can help them accept the facts and get them excited about the whole ordeal by then. Maybe that’s her true purpose here, she reckons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song portrayed in this chapter: _How do you solve a problem like Maria? _ (lyrics adapted for plot reasons ^^) Again, you might want to check the original song out!!  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After five weeks in Vienna, Jaime Lannister returns home with uncle Tyrion and Baroness Cersei!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written from Jaime's POV :D
> 
> So, I know you've been waiting for this chapter and here it is !!   


Jaime shifts in his seat nervously, twitching and itching, his right hand hidden inside his jacket’s pocket. Not for the first time today, and not for the first time since he left the army, he finds himself once more wishing he could drive. He could claim the prize of driving Cersei himself to his manor, a bit more romantic and charming than having a chauffeur. But, on the second hand, it’d also give him a very good excuse to focus on the road and not be so nervous. 

_I feel like a bloody teenager introducing my girlfriend to my parents_, he scowls, without understanding where his doubts and insecurities stem from. 

For now, sitting at the back of the limousine, it’s hard not to look up at her every few seconds, trying to evaluate her response to the city, to their surroundings, to the mansion and, well, to his whole life. They met at a gala in Vienna years ago and has been visiting her as much as his schedules--the children and his work--allowed him to, but it’s the first time he’s brought her back with him, so it is a really important deal right now. Even though they vowed to take it easy and not put too much pressure on themselves nor the visit. 

She looks content enough, for the time being, entertained by the lame jokes from Tyrion, eyeing the mountains and the lakes with awe and amazed eyes. Her golden hair willowing in the wind that roars through the open windows so she can take in the landscape. 

“The mountains are magnificent, Jaime,” Cersei says. “Really magnificent.” 

“I had them put up just for you, darling,” he promises, taking her hand. 

“Oh?” she asks, smiling. Can Cersei feel how nervous he is? Is she making an effort--or worse, putting up a façade--just for him? 

“Even if it is to a height of ten thousand feet, Jaime always believes in ‘rising to the occasion’.” 

“Improve your jokes or I’ll disinvite you, Tyrion,” warns Jaime, a bit tired already. Tyrion would never have made it a successful career into stand-up comedy, but that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop trying to annoy his family members. Tywin usually loses his patience at any family gathering when Tyrion drinks more than he should. 

“You didn’t invite me, I invited myself,” Tyrion replies. 

“Naturally,” nods Cersei. 

“You needed a chaperone, and I needed a place where the cuisine is superb, the wine cellar unexcelled, and the price perfect.” 

“Tyrion, you are outrageous,” laughs Cersei, hitting the man harmlessly on the arm. 

“Not at all,” he replies, barely offended by Cersei’s outburst. “I’m a very charming sponge. 

“Listen,” he says then. 

Singing is raising in the mountains--a male choir, no doubt. Cersei and Tyrion look around, trying to discern where it comes from. Jaime looks through the tainted window and, given where they are and the hour, he knows exactly what it is. 

“That’s the Klopmann Monastery Choir,” he informs. 

“They’re good,” praises Tyrion, as the voices slowly fade away. “Very good, in fact.” 

“What are you thinking?” presses Jaime with fear. He can always tell when Tyrion’s got something on his mind and, now that they’re with Cersei, fears what might come up to his brother’s genius and yet mad brain. Why did he invite his brother here again? 

“Oh, nothing, really.” 

“I’m sure it’s not nothing.” 

“You know the Salzburg Folk Festival?” 

“It may surprise you, but I happen to know about it,” nods Jaime. 

“Isn’t it in September?” asks Cersei. Jaime smiles at her and nods--she has been reading a bit about Salzburg. If it’s to impress him or the kids, he doesn’t know. 

“Jaime always forces me to attend,” sighs Tyrion. “And, well, I was only thinking, that I want to see something different this year. Don’t you think a Monastery Choir would make a nice surprise for a change?” 

“Good heavens, what’s this?” demands Cersei, forgetting all about Tyrion’s reveries. She leans forward to look out the window, leaning against Jaime, so close that he can smell her perfume and definitely feel the curve of her breast. He holds his breath, but she’s unaware of his reaction to her, appalled. 

Because of her reaction, Jaime looks out as well. Now, the choir’s singing has been replaced by the rattle of children, yelling, laughter and tone-deaf singing. They pass by a bunch of children climbed up on trees on the edge of the road, unaware of the dangers if they fell--not only because of the fall, but if a car was driving past right then and couldn’t stop in time. Gods know what in the world they’re doing. 

“Nothing. Just some local urchins,” promises Jaime. 

Unconsciously, he takes his hand out of his pocket to push the button that’ll turn up the tainted window, as if to put a physical barrier between them and those stupid children. Cersei retreats back to her seat without a second thought, but from the other side, Tyrion addresses him a funny look. Jaime freezes for a second and tries to turn around, but they’re too far away already to see the children on those trees. How many kids did he see up there...? Could they be...? No, it couldn’t. There’s no way. . . Certainly, Miss Tarth wouldn’t allow his children to be so reckless as to climb trees by the side of the road. Then again, didn’t Miss Tarth show to be audacious and daring when she confronted him on the eve of his departure? 

Cersei grabs his chin to make him focus on her. “Are you alright?” 

He smiles, trying to forget all about those urchins they’ve seen. How could there be anything wrong, having her here in his arms, in Salzburg, to meet his children, after so many years? “Of course, my darling.” 

“Ah, here we are,” announces Tyrion, as Christoph stops the car in front of the iron fence. 

They give Cersei some minutes alone to settle in her room, unpack and change after the long drive. Jaime himself fixes a few drinks on the terrace and gobbles down one of them in a single sip--he needed it. He’d hoped the children would be at home to welcome the Baroness, and the fact that they’re nowhere to be seen or heard, delaying the inevitable meeting, makes him feel even more nervous. 

When she emerges, Jaime’s out of breath for a second. She’s wearing a beautiful white blouse with a red jacket and skirt, golden earrings shimmering in the afternoon sun, a radiant smile on her lips. She blushes slightly under the make-up when she notices him staring, not as worse as Miss Tarth manages to blush whenever he made her uncomfortable. 

“D’you want a drink?” Tyrion suggests, offering her one glass. 

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Cersei suggests instead, reaching for Jaime. He also looks forward some alone time with her, for they’ve spent the whole trip with his forsaken brother, and it’s time he fixes that. Jaime takes her hand and, nodding in a farewell note to Tyrion, takes Cersei towards the paved road down to the lake. 

They wander mindlessly through the grandiose garden for minutes on end, getting further and further away from Tyrion and any other nuisance from the household members, birds chirping above their heads--welcoming them home. 

“This really is exciting for me, Jaime,” Cersei confesses after a while. Finally alone, just the two of them in the beautiful landscape in front of them, he also feels as if confessions could only befit the place--but they’ll have to wait for a bit. “Being here with you.”

He laughs. “Trees, lakes, mountains, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” 

“That is not what I mean, and you know it.” 

“You mean me? I’m exciting?” replies Jaime. 

“Is that so impossible?” 

He pretends to ponder for a second. “No, just highly improbable.” 

“There you go, running yourself down,” scowls Cersei, resuming their walk. 

“Well, I’m a dangerous driver,” he tries to joke, resting his arm around Cersei’s shoulders, keeping his right hand, as usual, deep inside his jacket’s pockets. 

“You’re much less of a riddle when I see you here, Jaime,” she sighs. 

“You mean, in my natural habitat?” he provides. “Are you saying that I’m more at home here, amongst the birds and the flowers and the wind that moves through the trees like a restless sea...?” 

“How poetic,” she says, and Jaime takes a second to try to remember what in the world he’s just said. 

“Yes, it was rather, wasn't it?” he laughs. _This is it, _he thinks. This is why. Cersei makes him happy, makes him laugh, makes him burst into poetry without meaning to. He’s never happier than whenever he’s with Cersei--she makes him forget all of his worries and troubles, which are quite a few, and has helped him to find there was still room for love in his heart. “More at home here than in Vienna in all your glittering salons, gossiping gaily with bores I detest, soaking myself in champagne, stumbling about to waltzes by Strausses I can't even remember? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” she nods, smiling. 

“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” he prompts, making her chuckle. He lets her get a few steps ahead, staring at her beauty while barely being able to breathe. 

“Oh, I do like it here, Jaime,” she sighs, a truly content smile on her lips. He’s more convinced by the second that it was a wonderful idea bringing her here. They both seem so free. “It’s so lovely and peaceful. How can you leave it so often?” 

“Oh, pretending to be madly active, I suppose,” Jaime supplies. His life is barely only filled with work, nowadays, whether he’s in Vienna or Salzburg, and it’s maddening. “Activity suggests a life filled with purpose.” 

“Could it be running away from memories?” she supplies. 

Startled for a second due to her akin guess, Jaime nods once, unable to say anything for a couple seconds. He needs to push away so many hurtful memories from his life that poor Cersei knows nothing about--she’s just accepted his baggage--before he can compose himself. “Or perhaps just searching for a reason to stay.” 

“I hope that’s why you’ve been coming to Vienna so often,” says Cersei, a masterful display of that dramatic, theatrical and joking tone that only underlies a whole bunch of insecurities and doubts about them and their relationship. “Were there other distractions?”

“Oh, I’d hardly call you a distraction,” he scowls. 

“Well, what would you call me?” she dares. She stops walking, turns around and lets Jaime take a good look at her--obviously expecting a string of adjectives and positive qualities from the man meant to charm her. He provides so, a smile he can’t erase on his lips. 

“Lovely. . . “ he starts. “Charming, witty, graceful, the perfect hostess and--you’re going to hate me for this--in a way, my savior.” 

“Oh, how unromantic,” she complains about that last one. 

“I’d be an ungrateful wretch if I didn’t say that you brought some meaning back into my life,” he confesses, resting his arm around her shoulders again. 

“I am amusing, I suppose,” Cersei agrees. “I have the finest couturier in Vienna and a glittering circle of friends. I do give some rather gay parties.”

“Oh, yes,” nods Jaime in a chuckle. He’s never been one to particularly enjoy parties, other than company functions and galas he was forced to attend because of his last name, but ever since he met Cersei he’s been dragged to ball after ball after ball. He wouldn’t say he’s come to enjoy them, but. . . It all depends on the company one keeps. 

“But take all that away. . .” proceeds Cersei, leaning ever so closer to him, “and you have just wealthy unattached little me. . . Searching, just like you.” 

Jaime catches his breath at that and he thanks the fact that, walking as they are side by side, Cersei can’t look at him in the eye. They’re similar souls in the world, lost in their own little bubbles that could very well burst at any moment without a second’s notice. He dares to hope, even briefly, that they might have traveled to Salzburg together with the same hopes. 

They return to the exterior terrace, where Tyrion has already made himself comfortable with his drink and a handful of strudels offered by the cooks. 

“Oh, no. I was hoping to finish these all by myself,” he scowls when Jaime pulls out a chair for Cersei. He drags the plate of strudels closer to his seat, further away from Cersei and Jaime, making them laugh. Yes, after the awkward touchy-feeling moments they’ve just shared, Tyrion’s jokes and absurdities is exactly what they both needed. 

“Come on, be a good lad with our guest,” he begs. 

However, Tyrion needs not to surrender any of the strudels, for the cook appears with another tray of those delicious pies, offering it first to Cersei, then to Jaime. It’s Franz the next one to come out to the terrace, holding a silver tray with unopened mail. Jaime scowls at the sight, dropping the strudel he was about to bite--what has he missed now with his trip to Vienna? 

“Mail, sir,” Franz says, bending by the waist for him to reach for the letters. 

“Why didn’t you send these out to me?” demands Jaime. “You knew where to reach me.” 

“They weren’t urgent, sir,” replies the butler, a bit startled by Jaime’s response. 

“Well, next time don’t make any assumptions and send them to Vienna. I’ll decide if they were urgent or not,” scowls Jaime. He opens the first envelope, sent by his father’s office two weeks ago, and is halfway reading the letter when he reaches for the second envelope. Just the first few lines are enough for him to realize the predicament Lannister Inc. is in and he slams the papers back on the table. 

“Bad news?” Tyrion asks--he’s got a keen eye, he has. 

“Yes,” scowls Jaime. He takes his tea to the end of the terrace and lays it on the veranda, sighing deeply. Damn it, if things were going so dreadfully, Tywin should have contacted him in Vienna, for Pete’s sake. There are phones and emails now. He realizes there’s little he could have done to fix any of this, but. . .

“Where are you, Jaime?” Cersei’s sweet voice, her warm hand on his shoulder, tries to pull him away from his worrying thoughts. Her touch and soft voice could never ail his current troubles, unfortunately. 

“In a world that’s disappearing, I’m afraid,” he whispers, dropping his head. 

“Is there any way I can bring you back to me?” 

Although the suggestion is charming and well-meaning, as he turns around, resolute to thank her efforts with a deep, passionate kiss, something else altogether catches Jaime’s attention: a racket and pandemonium caused by several people coming from the lake. He fears he knows what it is and in the name of the Seven, for Miss Tarth’s sake, he hopes he’s wrong. 

Leaving Cersei and Tyrion at the terrace, he runs towards the lake, his heartbeat too fast for any normal person, but then his heart skips a beat when he sees the scene in front of him. 

Yes, it’s the children and Fräulein Brienne on a boat, rowing with no kind of coordination or collaborative effort, singing merrily at the top of their lungs without realizing they’re completely deaf tone. Well, Fräulein Brienne wasn’t able to master any discipline at all in the time he’s been away--and dragged the kids down to Hell with her. Maybe she’ll acquire some in her next job, if she ever manages to find another post as a governess without any letter of reference from him. 

“Father!!” the children greet. They all wave and cheer, trying to stand on the boat. Fräulein Brienne, who had Brandon on her lap until then, stands too to greet him home. At that moment they lose balance, wobble dangerously and, in a painstaking slow-motion movement, they all fall into the water. 

_This isn’t bloody happening, _Jaime scowls. Tyrion’s having a hard time hiding his smirk, but Cersei looks shocked and appalled. Those children playing in the water look nothing like the composed kids he told her about, bragging with pride about their academic accomplishments, sports practices and the way they proudly uphold the family’s name. 

“Come out of the water at once!!” he orders. 

Fräulein Brienne’s taking Brandon in her arms, as if he couldn’t swim to the shore by himself, but everyone else is startled because of his yell and leaves the lake as fast as they can. Soaking wet, still laughing by Lord knows what ridiculous adventures they’ve enjoyed today, holding onto each other as not to slip on the dripping pavement, no one acknowledges Cersei’s presence, not even Tyrion’s. Furthermore, what in the world are they wearing...? They cannot be the same children they saw earlier up in trees doing the Seven know what. 

“Straight line!!” yells Jaime. 

That does it, they finally snap out of whatever sort of enchantment Fräulein Brienne had them under. All seven children stand in line, backs straight, hands behind their backs, ragged breathing after the exertion. Jaime can’t even look at Fräulein in the eye, struggling to get out of the water with the boat. 

He just takes a second glaring at the children in an attempt to simmer down instead of just yelling and telling them off as soon as he met them. He takes a handkerchief Sansa was wearing over the hair and then returns to Cersei’s side, barely able to contain his anger. 

“Children,” he starts off, “this is Baroness Cersei Baratheon. And these. . . Are my children.” He needs to bite his lower lip in order to stop himself from adding a derogative sentence along the lines ‘they’re not themselves at the moment’. 

“How do you do?” says Cersei formally, bowing her head at the kids. Now the children keep a formal silence, but they’ve gone past beyond the line this time. 

“Go inside, dry off, clean up, change your clothes and report back here! Immediately!”

They all run for the mansion, Robb, and Sansa taking Rickon, Bran, and Arya’s hands respectively as to prevent them from slipping and falling in their haste. Miss Tarth whispers that she ought to give them a hand drying off and changing and tries to follow them back into the house. 

“Fräulein, you will stay here, please!” Jaime yells. He will not have her near the children for a minute longer, letting her influence and corrupt them in ways unimaginable. 

“I’ll see to the children,” promises Tyrion softly. He offers his arm to Cersei and she excuses herself too, leaving for the Mansion. Jaime doesn’t know if Tyrion will actually look to the kids, but approves them getting out of here. He wouldn’t call himself as vicious, not exactly; however, he will give Miss Tarth a piece of his mind before sacking her, and they might at least grant her some intimacy while they get rid of her. 

He then turns to Miss Tarth, her head held high, without looking embarrassed or put out at all after the incident with the boat, back there. That only infuriates Jaime a bit more. Time and space from Salzburg and his children had helped him simmer down and he’d returned decided to give Fräulein another chance, but all of that’s long gone now. There’s no damned explanation for this behavior. 

“Now, Fräulein,” Jaime starts when Cersei’s safely far away from them as not to be part of their most than certain upcoming argument. “I want a truthful answer from you. Is it possible, or could I have just imagined it? Have my children, by any chance, been climbing _trees_ today?” 

“Yes, sir.” At least she’s being honest, he reckons, but how she manages to say so with that smile on her lips and to look at him straight in the eye, he cannot explain. 

“I see. And where, may I ask, did they get these...?” he asks, raising Sansa’s handkerchief. 

“Playing clothes.” 

“Is that what they are?” 

“They’ve been everywhere in them. I bought those for them.” 

“You mean to tell me my children have been roaming around Salzburg wearing some cheap clothes from the Seven know where?” shrieks Mr. Lannister, crumpling the handkerchief and tossing it to the floor. 

“That’s right. And having a marvelous time.” 

“They have uniforms.” 

“Straitjackets, if you’ll forgive me.” 

“I will not forgive you for that!” _There she is_, he sighs. The woman he’s been seeing and hearing in his nightmares, the one governess daring and courageous enough to talk back at him, to try and discuss the children with _him,_ of all people. Even when she’s about to get sacked she still cannot shut up.

“The children cannot do what they’re supposed to do if they have to worry about spoiling their precious clothes all the ti--” 

“They haven’t complained.” 

“Oh, they wouldn’t dare! They love you too much and _fear_ you--” 

“I don’t wish to discuss my children in this manner,” Jaime warns, trying to get away from her yells and her jabber. 

“Well, you’ve got to hear it from someone, you’re never home long enough to know--” 

“I said I don’t want to hear another word from you about my children!” 

“I know you don’t, but you _ought_ to!” she shrieks, outraged now, which only manages to get him more on edge, if possible. They both take a second, but on Miss Tarth’s case, it was only to catch her breath. “Now, take Sansa.”

“You will not say a word about Sansa,” he tries to stop her, uselessly.

“She is not a child. One of these days you’re going to wake up and find she’s a woman with dreams and hopes and thoughts of her own, and you won’t even know her! Jon and Robb only want to imitate you and to be like you, but they do not know how because you’re never there to show them! They’d be glad to spend one day, a single day, by your side, and for you to teach them how to be men!” 

“Don’t you dare tell me about my sons! ” 

But she’s on a roll and won’t let anything--or anyone--stop her now, it seems. 

“Sansa could tell you all about your children if you’d let her get close to you, she notices everything! And Gendry--he acts tough to hide the pain when you brush him aside, the way you do all of them.” 

“That’s enough, Fräulein,” he begs. _She’s no idea. . . She’s talking without knowing. She’s only spent so much time with them, she doesn’t know me at all._ Raising those children all by himself was incredibly hard, the hardest thing he’s ever done--including the time he served in the military. He’s given them _everything_ they could ask for. They have everything that money can buy at their disposal, and he’d buy the whole world for them if it was affordable. He’s trying to ensure an Empire and a dynasty for them. 

“They’d all be willing to tell you all about their dreams and plans if you sat down five minutes to listen to them,” she keeps going. “Arya, I don’t know much about her yet, but someone needs to find out about her. And the young ones just want to be loved, Mr. Lannister.

“Oh, please, captain, love them! Love them all!” 

_How dare she? _ How dare she imply he doesn’t love his children? All he does is for them. All those late hours at work, the education he’s giving them. . . He spends every waking minute thinking about his children, worrying about their future, trying to ensure the prosperity of the Lannister name so the don't suffer the same he's suffered. Jaime needs to physically get away from Miss Tarth and her speech or else he’ll say something he will eventually regret, possibly very down the line. 

“I don’t care to hear any more.” 

“I am not done, sir!” she yells behind his back. 

“Oh, yes, you are, captain!!” Jaime shrieks. Only two seconds later, upon the shocked face from Miss Tarth, he realizes his mistake and fixes the title in a deep sigh. “Fräulein. Now, you will collect your things this minute and return to whatever fantasy life you led before I had the misfortune of hiring you.” 

At that moment, music raises. He frowns and turns his back to Miss Tarth to face the mansion, the origin of the music. It’s singing. . . But it cannot be a choir around here, the closest abbey is miles away. It sounds so good, too. A recording, maybe...? 

“What is that?” 

“It’s singing,” Miss Tarth provides. 

“Yes,” Jaime almost wants to snap at her, “I realize it’s singing, but _who_ is singing?” 

“The children,” she answers in a whisper, shocking his whole system. “I taught them something to sing for the Baroness.” 

“The children...?” he repeats in an awed whisper, falling silent to listen. Whoever it is, they’re good, indeed. It cannot be the children. They never had any singing or music lessons whatsoever in their lives, for the forgotten gods, how can they be so good? Are they truly that skilled? Is this a hidden talent of them he’d overlooked all these years?

Miss Tarth and all her transgressions the past few weeks forgotten for the moment, Jaime enters the Mansion through the terrace. It’s definitely singing live, not a recording of sorts, coming from the saloon to the right. 

_ My heart wants to sing every song it hears, _  
_My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds _  
_That rise from the lake to the trees..._

It is really the children. Singing for Tyrion and Cersei, standing in a two-line semicircle, the younger ones at the front, Sansa accompanying while playing the guitar. Even seeing them with his own two eyes, Jaime disbelieves the sight in front of him. It sounds like an angel’s music to him, literally filling his heart and almost bringing tears to his eyes. 

They’ve all changed into their old uniforms, hair damp still. Cersei, sitting on the couch, she looks very much impressed, in spite of the impromptu and accidental first meeting out in the lake tarnishing what should have been a perfect meeting. They were all just children, having fun, enjoying the day out. . . 

_How could I miss that? Did I miss their childhood? Have I completely lost them?_

When they finish the song, Jaime wants to applaud and cheer so loud and for so long that people in Vienna will hear him and call the police on him, but he’s stunned and at a loss for words. He can barely believe his ears or his eyes--and the children all look up to him in some sort of daze, as well. 

_Something has changed,_ Jaime realizes then. During the time he’s spent away with Cersei, all these weeks the kids have been together with Miss Tarth, they can all tell something’s different. The change has been a thousand times for the better, and still, he’s just argued with and fired Fräulein Tarth. 

Rickon presents the Baroness with a white flower he’d been holding, and Cersei lets the little boy sitting on her lap before taking the flower and smelling it. 

“Edelweiss! Thank you very much, young man,” she says, gently brushing Rickon’s little nose with the flower, making him giggle, a sound Jaime’s barely heard in months. “Jaime, you never told me how enchanting and charming your children were.”

“I never knew,” he confesses with a stupid shocked smile on his face, still looking down on all of them in awe. Because it’s true, Miss Tarth was completely right. He barely knows his children, hasn’t invested the time to know them. Sansa’s almost a woman now, Jon and Robb look like someone could teach them how to shave properly, and Rickon and Brandon just look at him with hurt devotion in his eyes. How could he be so blind? “When did you have the time to. . .”

“Fräulein Brienne taught us!” supplies Bran. 

“It was a surprise welcome back gift,” says Sansa. 

“So, welcome back!” yells Gendry, throwing his arms in the air, like a magician popping out of a birthday cake. Due to his nervousness and uncertainty, the statement falls into a pitiful silence and he drops his arms. Everyone in the room--his seven children, his own brother, Cersei and he can also feel Miss Tarth’s staring from outside--stands expectantly for his answer. 

“Thank you,” he whispers in the end. “It’s good to be back.” 

Jaime steps closer to hug Gendry for his welcome back statement, and after two shocking seconds, the boy hugs him back. In a matter of seconds, everyone else joins in, jumping into his arms, forcing Jaime to kneel on the floor under everyone’s weight. Barely able to maintain the balance on his right prosthetic hand, he falls to the ground, which just makes him burst out laughing--and the children laugh as well, some of them with tears in their eyes. 

As they remain on the floor for the longest time, Jaime tries to wipe the tears off all their eyes, as to have some sort of physical connection with them after so long. They’ve barely ever laughed, much less cried, this openly in front of them. They don’t even shiver when he wipes some of their tears with his prosthetic, either, despite the fact some of them don’t even know when that accident occurred. The children are unable to release him, just as much as he is, while Jaime caresses Sansa’s cheek, pinches softly Robb and Jon in the arms, keeps Bran and Rickon close to his sides with his right arm, lets Arya lie on his chest, ruffles Gendry’s hair, squeezes Brandon’s hand before pulling him in into a hug too. 

“Father,” says Sansa after some minutes. “Please, don’t fire Fräulein Brienne.” 

Well, perfect, he wants to scowl. The first request his children have for him and he cannot fulfill their wishes. He’s just fired the woman and he learned a long time ago to never back down on his word. It’s a sign of weakness, per Tywin’s lessons. 

“Please, Father!” they all beg, helping him to sit down on the carpet. Out of courtesy towards Cersei and Tyrion, Jaime then stands, but the children keep surrounding him, imploring. Tears quickly reappearing in some of their eyes, Rickon, Brandon, Gendry, and Sansa will simply not let go of his jacket. 

What sort of spell did she cast on them? No previous governess has managed to form as strong a bond with the kids as Miss Tarth did--heck, on most occasions, the children drove the governesses away. Apart from teaching them music, teaching them how to laugh and smile again, what in the world did she do to them?

“Do you really want Miss Tarth to stay?” he asks very slowly. 

“Yes!” yells Arya--the one Jaime had hoped would show the strongest opposition to such abhorrent idea. 

“We do!” confirms little Brandon, jumping from one foot to the other. 

“Don’t send her away,” begs Robb, making Jaime frown and shake his head. He thought he had taught the eldest Lannister that begging and bargaining won’t get him far in this life. In the name of the Seven, if Tywin saw this scene with his own two eyes, if he heard his grandchildren plea for the sake of a simple governess, he’d disinherit them all--starting by Jaime. 

“We want her to stay!” insists Rickon, tugging on his jacket. 

“Please!” all seven voices raise next. 

Jaime closes his eyes at their prays, cupping Rickon’s face tenderly. Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his first quarrel back with his children would involve Miss Tarth, of all people. He now sees that he can’t do this to them, not right now. He’ll break their hearts. 

_Well, perhaps her staying a few more weeks won’t hurt, _he reckons. Have her helping out with the children a little while longer as they get used to Cersei’s presence around the mansion and having her into their lives. Soon enough they won’t be in need of a governess at all and it might be a pain in the ass conducting interviews for a job meant to last a few weeks. Perhaps he can learn to stand Miss Tarth for a little while longer, just for his children’s sake. 

The only thing for him to do now in order to fulfill his children's wishes is to pluck up enough courage to _apologize_ to a freaking governess and ask her to stay. Easier said than done, he sighs. 

"Don't go away," he begs his children, tapping Gendry's nose. 

He turns around to leave without crossing eyes with Cersei or Tyrion. He doesn't want to begin to wonder how is the Baroness dealing with all of this--him, begging another woman to stay, only because the children have asked him to. And as per Tyrion. . . He can do without his jokes at the present, thank you very much. Alas, he won't be able to put up with his own brother for long if he fails to convince Miss Tarth to stay. As a matter of fact, he figures things will be bad with his kids if he fails, too. Apparently, the future of this family, what with _him_ being the head of the family and all, seems to rely solely on the hands of a governess. A woman who didn't understand her position from the beginning, and presumably, time won't change her mind, either. 

_How on Earth did that happen?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who know the movie, (and also for those who don't), this chapter is taken almost line-by-line from The Sound of Music, especially Jaime's conversation with the Baroness and his argument with Brienne--but I added some introspection on Jaime's character and his take on coming back and meeting the children!
> 
> Next chapter, Jaime talks with Brienne. . . Again :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reconciling with his children, Jaime listens to their plea and tries to talk to Brienne again. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Brienne's POV !!

_Great. Fantastic. Perfect. _

She grabs three dresses from the hangers at a time and throws them over her shoulder onto the suitcase--those were the last items of clothing on the cupboard. 

_Freaking amazing. _

She then moves onto the drawers, grabbing in her arms all the underwear that she’d taken the time to fold and keep in an orderly fashion. Now, however, she doesn’t have that kind of patience, and just drops her load over the dresses, skirts, and blouses, weighing on them to make sure the zipper will close all the way. She couldn’t give a damn if the clothes get all wrinkled on her trip back. She’ll have plenty of time to iron it all back home. 

_Awesome. Superb. _

She does her damn best, she sacrifices days off she had the right to by contract, she sacrifices money she didn’t fucking have for those children, and all for nothing. 

Sure, she realized she was fired the moment she stormed off Mr. Lannister’s room on the eve of his departure. He could have sacked her through Franz either way, but that’d bring him too many headaches, she guessed, and he probably wanted to do it personally. So she’d stayed, even knowing she was just hanging on a trial period that’d last for however long Mr. Lannister was planning to stay in Vienna. 

In the meantime she tried to do her best with the children, letting them know and enjoy true happiness for once in their lifetime. She’s not delusional, she hadn’t fooled herself into believing that a magical solution and a spoonful of sugar would make everything alright and that the children would manage to convince their father into letting her stay. 

And yet, it still stings. 

She doesn’t know where the courage to speak up to Mr. Lannister came from, but that was wonderful. A brilliant speech that only ensured her being fired immediately. Mr. Lannister needed to hear all of that, of course, however tough the pill was to swallow, and he needed to understand that those children he claimed to love so much would become total strangers, if things didn’t change and soon. 

However righteous she might have been, doesn’t change the fact that people like Mr. Lannister don’t usually give second thoughts to commoners like her, much less listen or have eyes for someone like her. She could have written a novel about his children, she could have shouted from the rooftops, could have written songs about how enchanting and charming they are, that Mr. Lannister would still have brushed her away without giving her a second thought. And the most infuriating thing is, he’s still blind to how wonderful his children are. 

Well, her personal little experiment as Mary Poppins for the Banks siblings has now come to an end. Despite the very obvious and foreseeable end, she’s still so royally pissed off. Not at the children, Goodness her--they could never do anything to piss her off--but at herself and, more accurately, at Mr. Lannister especially. 

_Just magnificent. _

She heads to the bathroom with her toilet kit, picks up all her toiletries and throws them on the bag. Just to prove that she’s not a stupid, simple woman and that she does not need servants to maintain some sort of decorum, she takes her hairbrush and makes sure no strands of hair stay on there, on the bathtub, the sink, or the floor, furiously flushing afterwards. If she’d had the time, she might even ask for cleaning supplies and polish every spot until they glimmered, but she doesn’t have that sort of patience today. She’d throw something out of the window before she was through.

Granted, welcoming Mr. Lannister and Baroness Schraeder home with the children on a boat that had capsized, especially when Brandon doesn’t even know how to swim yet, was not the perfect way to prove she’d ‘acquired some discipline’, as per Mr. Lannister’s own words. Knowing he’d be back soon, she should have stuck to simpler routines and activities that wouldn’t embarrass herself, the children nor Mr. Lannister. Of course, after all the excitement and happiness the children have had lately, it would have been hard to make them settle for something that simple and ordinary. 

Someone knocks on the door and she scowls. She was just complaining about the children not giving her a farewell note, or not seeing an amiable face before leaving the mansion for good, and now she realizes she doesn’t want to see anybody. She might end up crying, and she doesn’t want to give Mr. Lannister the satisfaction. 

Whoever it is, knocks again on the door. 

“_Go away!”_ she orders. 

“Miss Tarth, may I speak with you?” Mr. Lannister’s cold and formal voice raises from the other side of the door. 

This time, Brienne scowls out loud. For the Seven Gods! What else has he got to say? What insult does he want to throw at her now? She remains quiet, resolute not to give in and to avoid a second spectacle on a row. She throws the toilet kit on the suitcase and tries to close it, but the zipper gets stuck on some piece of clothing. The damn, old thing. . . 

“Miss Tarth, may we please avoid the very awkward situation where you try to flee out of the house through the window and I’m under the very uncomfortable position of crawling after you with one hand?” he begs. 

Well, before he mentioned it, the possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind, but now Brienne ponders, briefly. She could probably throw her bag out first, and it’s just one floor, she might even make it to the ground unscathed. It’d be harder to climb down with the guitar suitcase under her arm, though. . . And she wouldn’t throw it out the window, except maybe if the house was on fire. 

Defeated, with no way out, she drops on the bed, anxiously rubbing her hands. A flight through the window or another face-down with Mr. Lannister, what’s the lesser evil? Oh, they really should sell tickets to this conversation. 

She opens the door, ready for the hurricane Lannister to flatten her mood and her whole room, but instead, she realizes that it’s her the one who’s in a foul mood, not the other way around. Granted, Mr. Lannister doesn’t look comfortable exactly and he’s switching his weight from one foot to the other, but he’s not as pissed off at her as he was earlier, down the lake. 

Mr. Lannister, in fact, seems surprised after taking one look around the room and seeing her suitcase on the bed. 

“You going somewhere?” 

Brienne almost smashes the door on his nose, that’s how bad his joke was. She can barely stop herself, as she holds for life itself onto the doorknob. 

“May I come in?” he asks softly. 

At least he’s asking permission instead of barging into her room like she did that night, Brienne scowls, feeling herself blush. She steps aside to let Mr. Lannister in, hoping she moved fast enough for him not to notice the colors on her cheeks. She wasn’t, his smug smile tells her. 

Mr. Lannister wanders around the room, possibly without any fixed idea on mind. His eyes fall back on the suitcase and on that zipper stuck on some clothing and, forgetting all norms of propriety and courtesy, he grabs the zipper with his left hand and pulls, his right hand leaning weight on the suitcase. He fights for some long seconds until finally, the zipper is freed and he uses the prosthetic to pull inside whatever clothing was in the way of the zipper, to close her suitcase. 

Finished his heroic act, he sits on the bed. Brienne hasn’t moved from the door, arms crossed, eyeing Mr. Lannister while unable to utter a word. 

“So, I guess. . . I wanted to apologize.” 

“What for?” demands Brienne immediately--and it was the one answer that gets Mr. Lannister to look at her as if she were a strange specimen of the human race. 

“_What for?”_ he repeats. 

“Well, are you apologizing for the argument before, for you not respecting me, for you name-calling me the last time we spoke, or maybe for screwing me over in spite of being almost two freaking hundred miles away?” 

Mr. Lannister doesn’t move his eyes away from hers as she listed his transgressions and then he needs some extra seconds to swallow, hard, and clear his throat. Uncomfortable in such a lower position sitting on the bed, he stands again, running his left hand through his hair, the other inside his pocket. 

“I do hope you don’t use such foul language in front of my children.” 

Brienne swallows back a scowl, but the hatred must be clear in her eyes. “No, I reserve that language only for insecure and stupid men.” 

Mr. Lannister must realize his mistake, for he closes his eyes, takes a step back from her as if he needed more personal space for this conversation and after some seconds, tries again. “I suppose I deserved that. I apologize for the two days off you’re owed. They will be paid in full, of course.” 

“I could care less about your money,” spits Brienne, shocking Mr. Lannister once more. After a silence that lasts two heartbeats, he keeps talking. 

“Also, I apologize for the way we parted last month,” he says, “and for the way I raised my voice at you back there, as well.” 

“Alright. Apologies accepted,” nods Brienne. It truly didn’t feel as if Mr. Lannister felt remorse for all those instances, but getting an apology was far more than Brienne’d expected. She waves with her hand and Mr. Lannister moves away from the bed, allowing her to take her bags. “If that’s all, I bid you goodbye. Thank you for having me here these past weeks.” Her parting notes aren’t truly heartfelt either, but who cares now. “Would it be alright with you if I stopped by and said goodbye to the kids?” 

“Fräulein,” Mr. Lannister calls her out behind her back. She rolls her eyes before she turns around, promising herself she’ll stand her ground a little while longer. “I didn’t come here just to apologize. I would like you. . . The children asked me to. . . 

“Please, we would like you to stay. _I_ want you to stay,” he insists. 

Brienne stands there quiet and unmoving, waiting for the punchline. After about a minute, Mr. Lannister scowls and runs his hand through his hair out of despair. 

“For Pete’s sake, Fräulein, it isn’t a joke,” he explodes. “I’m asking you to stay here. I. . . I behaved badly, I’ll confess. I really would like. . . The children and I. . . We would really like for you to stay. If you wish so too.” 

“If I can be of any help--” 

“You already have,” Mr. Lannister promises, honest and true. “More than you know.” 

“Then, of course, I’ll stay,” Brienne finds herself saying without really thinking it. At that, both of them breathe deeply, a heavy burden taken off both their shoulders. 

Well, if it’s truly honesty time, Brienne’s got an apology of herself to make. He wasn’t the only one in the wrong back there. “I. . . I apologize too. I’m far too outspoken,” she confesses, letting her suitcase back on the floor. “It’s one of my worst faults. Sometimes, I can’t seem to stop saying things--everything I think and feel.” 

“Some people would call that ‘honesty’, Miss Tarth,” Mr. Lannister provides with the hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. His voice softer now, he sits on the armchair in front of her, his hand reaching out to grab hers. . . But he retreats as soon as he realizes in pure terror what he was going to do. 

“But it’s so terrible,” complains Brienne, dropping her face. 

“No, it is not,” replies Mr. Lannister. “You were right on every account, and someone needed to open my eyes to it. I do not know my children.” 

“Oh, there’s still time, captain,” promises Brienne--wasn’t her plan to make him think he’d wasted his life away and that there was no possibility for him to bond back with his children. “They want so much to be close to you. If you just give them the option. . .” 

“I will.” 

Exhausted by the trip, the nervousness and the confessions, Mr. Lannister sinks deeper into the armchair, hiding his face behind his hands. Brienne feels incapable of not stepping up to his side and sitting on the edge of the bed, resting one hand on the armchair--that’s as close as she dares to get to a man who by all rights should hate her guts. 

“You only need to be by their side, sir. They admire you so much more than you think. These past few weeks. . . They’re all wonderful kids, sir. I don’t think even you realize how much. They would gladly trade everything--everything--this house, the servants, their school, everything, just to have a few days with you.” 

“I’ll start working on that,” the man promises softly. “And you brought music back into the house,” he whispers, looking up at her again, his eyes piercing her soul with their fright, tenderness, and warmth. “I. . . I’d forgotten. I actually believe I know that song. . .” 

He hums the first notes to the song, Do’-Re’-Do’-Si-La, with surprising and uncanny precision, although he does not remember the lyrics. She provides them for him, and after a few beats, he joins in the acapella song, the rhythm coming back to him from some deep-buried drawer somewhere in his mind. 

_The hills are alive with the sound of music_  
_With songs they have sung for a thousand years. _  
_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music _  
_My heart wants to sing every song it hears. _  
_My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds_  
_that rise from the lake to the trees._  
_My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_  
_from a church on a breeze. . ._

When they finish the song, Mr. Lannister starts laughing under his breath, shaking his head softly and hiding his face again under his hand. Just like the time, weeks ago, where Brienne taught the children their first song, and they sang together, something has changed here between them. She doesn’t know if it’s a change for the better or for the worse, but there’s something different in Mr. Lannister’s laughter, in the relaxed way he’s sitting, in how she hasn’t been conscious about him stepping into her room and privacy again. 

At that moment, Brienne realizes how close they’d been standing until and pulls back to sit on the bed. She hopes Mr. Lannister won’t think too much into her stepping back, although it seems as if he hadn’t noticed. She gives him all of another minute. 

“To summarize, just to be sure. . . I’m not fired?” she asks. 

“No, Fräulein, you aren’t. Of course not,” he promises, the hint of humor in his voice. To answer her this time, Mr. Lannister drops his arm and looks at her again intently, making Brienne drop her gaze to the floor. 

“And I’m still taking care of the children.” 

“Yes.” 

“In what capacity?” 

“Beg your pardon?” demands Mr. Lannister, uncertain for the first time she’s known him for. 

“Well, not too long ago you stood in this room and told me that discipline was the number one rule of this household or something along those lines,” says Brienne, tilting her head. “Does that still stand? Because if so, I don’t think I can keep on working here. I couldn’t work for someone when our working ethics and ideals are so different.” 

“Of course you couldn’t,” nods Mr. Lannister. 

Something in his eye, or the small smile in the corner of his lip, tells Brienne that he was not mocking her now. And so, she raises her eyebrows and shoulders, leaning back on the bed to put some more distance with the man, waiting for an answer. 

“You just keep doing whatever you’ve been doing here,” instructs Mr. Lannister. “I’ve never heard my children singing, I’ve never even seen them this happy since their Mother. . .” he interrupts whatever he was going to say and starts again, all without ever looking away from Brienne’s eyes. “Just keep doing your thing,” he insists. 

“Do I understand that you’ve just given me free rein, then?” 

At that, Mr. Lannister openly laughs again, addressing her a mischievous look. “Should I be scared?” 

“Oh, definitely,” nods Brienne. “But none of your kids has ended up at the hospital while you were away, did they? They’ve never skipped school or sports practices, they’ve done their homework and, for the most part, they’ve fulfilled all their schedules.” 

“And that’s what I hired you for,” agrees Mr. Lannister. He stands, buttoning his jacket, and Brienne mirrors his movement, towering a few inches taller than him. For the first time, the height difference doesn’t seem to bother him so much. “So, from where I’m standing, you’re doing just fine, Miss Tarth. Certainly exceeded my expectations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister.”

“Jaime,” he blurts out. He looks shocked at the proposal and Brienne gives him time to correct should he so wish, but he doesn’t take it. “Call me Jaime.” 

She’s startled and stutter for words for a second. “I’m not sure it’d be appropriate--”

“For Pete’s sake, Brienne, we’ll be living in the same house for the foreseeable future and you’ll be taking care of my children in the meantime,” he explodes, but the smile on his lips tells Brienne he wasn’t pissed off at her for once. “Yes, I’d say it’s completely appropriate.” 

“Okay,” accepts Brienne. She takes Jaime’s good hand to shake but then they don’t move away for some long seconds, until she snaps out of the blur and remembers she’s got some duties to perform in this household. “Well, if you give me a few minutes to unpack, I’ll be downstairs for dinner.” 

“It’s alright. Take your time. We’ll wait for you.” 

Brienne was politely asking her hand back and for some privacy to unpack her bag, but in spite of his words, Mr. Lannister--Jaime--doesn’t seem to understand he needs to let her go and to leave her room. They’re too close for Brienne’s taste, and for some reason, she holds her breath to avoid saying something to spoil the terms they’ve just agreed on. 

After a minute, Brienne needs to clear her throat and rudely add, “Well, I should start unpacking now. . .” 

“Yes. Of course!” nods Jaime, releasing her hand. He makes his way out of the room and. . . Did she actually see him blush? In a funny role of events, it’s Brienne who smirks now at Mr. Lannister’s obvious embarrassment. “I’ll see you downstairs. And, really, Miss Tarth. . . Thank you for everything.” 

“You’re more than welcome,” are Brienne’s last words just before Jaime shuts the door. As she unpacks her bag, returning her clothes and toiletries to their rightful places, thanking the Seven they’re not really that much wrinkled, Brienne can’t erase the smile from her lips. 

After she’s done unpacking, Brienne needs to sit on the bed for a minute or two, her cell phone lying by her side on the bed. She still cannot believe that she’s staying. She’s spent the past five weeks waiting to be sacked the minute Mr. Lannister returned--and that’s the only reason why she dared talking back at the man, since she’d already lost her job long before she opened her mouth for the first time this afternoon. There was no chance of her still being employed by Mr. Lannister upon his return. Zero. And her spectacular speech out there by the lake only confirmed the possibilities of her being fired by two hundred percent. 

And yet, she’s just unpacked her bag. Her clothes are on the wardrobe again, her toiletries back on the shelves in the bathroom. The Gods have been merciful for some reason and have given her a second chance. 

Still disbelieving everything that’s happened in the past half hour, since they met Mr. Lannister and the Baroness, Brienne decides to call Margaery. Again, speaking to someone not involved in the household and the family might help her distinguish between what was real and what was simply her imagination. 

“You didn’t tell my Dad about the argument with Mr. Lannister, did you?” she asks, afraid. 

“No, of course not,” promises Margaery. Brienne breathes a little better now. She’d never have heard the end of it if her father had heard about the way she confronted her employer and made a fool out of her ass in the same evening. Also, she wouldn’t want to disappoint her father by letting him believe she was about to lose her job. . . Although not anymore. Feels surreal still, being so certain for so long she’d be headed back to Vienna the minute Mr. Lannister returned to his Mansion in Salzburg. 

“Oh, and that’s not all: Mr. Lannister can sing,” says Brienne, just to change the subject. But she knew Margaery, a gossiper always looking for the tiniest of details from any man or woman she meets, would die to hear that. 

“You’re kidding me!” she shrieks.

“No, I am not. You didn’t find that on your research, did you?” chuckles Brienne. 

“But. . . You’ve _heard_ him singing? Are you sure it was him?” 

“Yes, pretty sure. I just sang with him less than ten minutes ago. He wasn’t half bad, if I’m being honest. Just like his children. With a little bit of training, maybe he also could. . .” 

“Hold on!” begs Margaery. “You _sang with_ Mr. Lannister?” 

Brienne freezes. She said it without thinking, just explaining what had happened and the circumstances where she heard Mr. Lannister, of all people, singing. 

“It’s not what you think,” Brienne dismisses Margaery’s overworked assumptions. It wasn’t as intimate as personal as what Margaery might believe. . . Was it? They were all alone, it was the first time Brienne heard him singing, and they were awfully close. . . “It was just a few lines of a song. I taught it to the children and he knew it. I think it was just a peace offering.” 

“And you took it.” 

“Well, it came with my job back, so yeah, I did,” chuckles Brienne. “Now, I’m sorry, but I really need to tend to the children before dinner. Talk to you some other time?” 

“Sure. And if you catch Mr. Lannister singing again, please record him!” she begs. 

“Oh, no, that is not happening. Goodbye, Margaery.” 

She hangs up the phone call and takes just another minute to catch her breath. When she saw Mr. Lannister standing there on the garden, she never thought she’d have to tend to the kids for tonight’s dinner, so she needs one more minute to settle down and return to Earth. 

Briefly, she ponders what her next move should be. She’s been given a free out of jail card, permission to keep doing all that she’s doing. Even with her spectacle down there daring to break things down to Mr. Lannister--Jaime. Might as well come straight about everything: Brandon’s pictures, Gendry’s amazing skills at crafts, Arya’s soft spot for stray dogs and cats,. . . Or Sansa’s relationship with the neighbor’s son. 

“Slow down,” she commands herself. She’s just managed not to lose her job. She might be careful as not to lose her neck, while she’s at it. There’ll be time to put Mr. Lannister up to date with everything that’s happened and everything he should be aware of. No need to push it. 

Falling back on their routine, she knocks on the children's’ rooms to summon the seven of them and go downstairs for dinner, but she finds none of the kids there. Before she panics upon their disappearance, she reasons that they must be at the salon already, which only puts her more on edge. She’d counted on their presence to get through seeing Mr. Lannister again--and his brother and Baroness Cersei too, for that matter. Oh, well. She’ll pull through. 

“Fräulein!” 

“Miss Tarth!” 

As soon as she opens the door, all seven children stand from the couches they were seating on and come to greet her, some hugging her--Brandon and Rickon even demand her to pull them up so they can kiss her cheeks. 

Good Gods, sighs Brienne in shock, exchanging some long looks with Robb, Sansa, and Jon, who’re just beaming at having her back. Whether they shared their fears with their younger siblings or they came to the realization themselves, all the children believed that her time here at the mansion would end as soon as their Father returned. She did too, of course, or else she’d never dared to say such unspeakable things to the man. But alas, it seems she’s going to stay for a little while longer. . . 

Was it because of the children?, she can’t help but ponder. Despite she spoke nothing but the through, is Mr. Lannister still blind to his children’s wonders? Did he ask her to stay only because the children insisted and put him up to it? Good Gods, she hopes she doesn’t have to talk reason into him ever again. 

After a few minutes, the children settle, and Brienne’s eyes fall onto Mr. Lannister, Baroness Cersei, and the man she assumes it’s uncle Tyrion. 

“Good evening, Mr. Lannister. Baroness Schraeder,” she says, bowing to the head. “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier.” 

“Fräulein Brienne,” greets the Baroness, formally cold tone. “It’s a pleasure seeing you again.” 

Brienne’s frozen for a second, unable to answer the Baroness. The kids’ reaction and response to her staying at the Mansion seemed, and was rather, genuine. The Baroness’, not so much. And she doesn’t know why. 

“Miss Tarth!” Mr. Tyrion Lannister greets her in a yell, almost as happy and boisterous as the children were a couple of minutes ago. He crosses the room to offer her his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise, sir.” 

“Oh, Tyrion, please!” he begs, and with that he becomes the first man in the household who insists on her addressing him by his first name, ordering Brienne to forget all those ‘stupid formalities of my brother.’ 

“Now, now, Tyrion--” Jaime tries to complain from the corner of the room. 

“Shush, Jimmy, boy,” Tyrion interjects. “You spend so much time with Father, you still have to land in the twenty-first century. 

“Can I offer you a drink, Miss Tarth?” 

“No, thank you. . . Tyrion,” she uses the name looking over at Jaime, and hides a shiver upon the displeasure she sees in the man’s face. She cannot bite her tongue now either, however. “But please, you must call me Brienne, as well.” 

“It’s a deal,” agrees the man, raising his glass as in a toast. He then takes a step, awfully close to her now, and lowers his voice. “Come on. One congratulatory drink. I hear you’ve given my stupid and condescending brother the telling off of his life. That calls for a drink, Fräulein.” 

Brienne blushes, swallowing back a chuckle, and looks over to Jaime. He’s speaking to Baroness Cersei in the corner and it seems no one heard Tyrion, not even the children, way closer than Mr. Lannister and his guest. Well, she did manage to keep her job in spite of her confronting her employer, and it seems everyone is happier having her around still. If that doesn’t call for a drink, what does? 

“Okay,” she accepts. “One drink.” 

“Now we’re talking,” approves Tyrion, running to the drinks cabinet. 

He returns after pouring just the smallest drinking glass of wine. Brienne fears that Jaime seeing her drink for the first time tonight of all nights, after dressing down she gave him earlier, could be a deal-breaker, but he doesn’t disapprove. After all, Baroness Cersei herself has in her hands the same glass of red wine. 

“Cheers,” says Tyrion, now making a proper toast. 

“Cheers,” Brienne corresponds. 

Franz saves the day by announcing that dinner is served, and Jaime leads the way, offering his arm to Baroness Cersei to walk her through. At the dining room, the two men occupy the table heads, and Baroness Cersei sits to Mr. Lannister’s right, as the guest of importance. Brienne sits two sits from the Baroness, with Jon and Robb in between, right in front of Sansa. 

There’s a total amount of five seconds of silence. . . And then the kids all burst out talking to each other, to their uncle, and more importantly, to their Father. They tell him about Erwin’s injury when they went riding the other day, about their friends’ summer holidays, or some of the handicrafts they’ve made with Brienne. Shocked at first, Mr. Lannister hardly knows how to react or to respond, but his children are just happy that he’s there to listen to them. He’ll have time to get used to this new side from his children, for this is what every meal Brienne’s had with the kids looked and sounded like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following the original plot here--also, there wouldn't be much of a story left (much less more than 10 chapters) if Brienne _didn't_ decide to stay with the Lannisters, would there?  
Hope you liked it !!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As summer holidays progress, all the Lannister family members try to adjust to the new changes in their lives, brought up by the presence of one Fräulein Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it !!

Some birds chirp to welcome her back, the early sun hurting her eyes. Brienne breathes raggedly on her last few strides towards the house. She stops at the terrace, stretches her arms, and checks her watch. A couple of weeks ago she took a longer route and since then, she’s improving her time gradually, proving to be a fantastic way to start her day. 

Stretching one leg after the other, raising her arms over her head, she makes her way to the kitchen. 

“Morning. Coffee?” someone says to her right. 

“Yes, please,” she says, her eyes still closed as she was stretching her neck in circular moves. Cooks or servants have always a mug prepared for her by the time she gets back and, voluntarily or not, she’s come to accept and appreciate the warm beverage in the cold early hours of the morning. 

Liquid pours into a cup, the smell of caffeine filling her nostrils already, and someone steps closer with the mug. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you. . .” she takes the mug and was about to thank Franz, or perhaps Charlie, but she chokes when it’s Mr. Lannister standing in front of her, handing her the steaming cup of coffee with a warm smile. 

There’s no easier way out of this than for her to take the mug and allow Mr. Lannister to return to his work on the terrace table, so she does exactly that. Fulfilling her wishes, the man nods once at her and resumes his seat, back facing the kitchen. He returns to his paperwork, giving her time and space to breathe--although if she has a hard time catching her breath is not because of her jogging anymore, not really. 

She just wasn’t expecting Mr. Lannister--Jaime--to be out there already, dressed in a three-piece suit and tie before it’s six in the morning, and certainly hadn’t foreseen the man to pour her the coffee himself. Albeit she does need to step inside for milk and sugar, it’s nice of him to go out of his way to show her his kind side, for a change. It’d been buried very, very deep. 

The man is struggling, but still, he’s trying to make an effort towards her and towards the children nonetheless. He’s spending as much time as possible at the house, working in his study and attending a prodigious amount of calls throughout the day, all so he could see the kids and chat with them more often. The original plan was to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner all together, making those their bonding time through the ‘no phones at the dining table’ rule, but Jaime has such different schedules than the kids that it wasn’t feasible--he also agreed it’d be unkind to wake them up so early in the morning. So he changed strategies, working from the house as much as he could, and whenever he’s got some minutes to spare he comes out of his study to sit down with the children for a little while. 

That is, if they’re home as well. Brienne’s still trying to let the kids have as much fun as they can throughout their summer holidays, and a bunch of toddlers and teenagers aren’t meant to stay at home all day long, waiting for their Father to decide he’s got ten minutes to spare. She’s been taking them out of the house almost as much as she did during Mr. Lannister’s absence, making excursions, going into town, cycling or riding, taking them to their sports practices. Once more, sensibly, Mr. Lannister agreed to let them do as they pleased--bonding with all seven children would take some time and patience, after all. And this way, Brienne also gave him and Baroness Cersei some alone time without the kids. 

She brought music into the house and it brought joy and happiness, which brought more music altogether. The more they sing the merrier they are, and the merrier they all are, the more they want to sing: that’s how the two work together. That equation also eluded Mr. Lannister for the longest time. But now, although she hasn’t heard him sing much yet, he joins them as much as he can in their games, their laughter, in them having fun. 

A few days ago, when the children were making a fuss and a mess at breakfast--the usual scene with them nowadays, to be honest--Jaime appeared out of nowhere, grabbed some bread for toasts and engaged in the food fight as well. After the initial shock, all the children counterattacked, and they were all forced to change clothes before leaving for the children’s sports practices. 

Another day Mr. Jaime caught them dancing and singing out on the grounds, probably scaring neighbors, household members, and animals alike. Tyrion was there as well, Brienne attempted to accompany Lord knows what songs with the guitar, but it mostly was an incoherent and uncoordinated dance that came out of nowhere. Arya was spinning, hands in the air, like a hurricane, shrieking some song like a banshee; Rickon and Bran rolling down the ground; Gendry and Jon, hands clasped, were turning in circles with Tyrion; Robb and Sansa were paired as well, but their movements and steps didn’t resemble any dance known to humans. Despite the disastrous display, Jaime didn’t think it twice before joining. At first, he tried to impose some decorum, but then Sansa grabbed his hands and made him join their mad dance properly, controversial as it sounds.

“Won’t you sit down?” Jaime asks. 

Brienne was slowly sipping on her coffee, leaning against the veranda, staring out to the gardens and grounds, trying to find a polite way to leave the terrace. With Mr. Lannister’s invite right now, it just got a whole lot harder. 

“I should go--”

“Please,” he interjects softly. He drops his pen, stands and pulls a chair out for her, to his right, facing the grounds and the lake. “Join me.” 

Unable to say no to him now, she nods. “Alright. Just for a bit.” 

As she sits down she finally realizes what had been bothering her. It’s his hand--Mr. Lannister’s not wearing his prosthetic hand, and despite so, he’s not trying to hide it inside his jacket’s pocket, as he usually does whenever Baroness Schraeder’s around. The sleeve of his right arm falls empty to his side, dangling with his movements. 

She does not mention so as Jaime resumes his seat, taking his papers again, his long hair falling like an auburn curtain before him. However, he feels Brienne’s eyes on him, for he flashes a radiant smug and looks up at her. Brienne, flustered for being caught staring, takes a long sip of coffee and looks down at the lake, squinting at the glaring reflection of the sun on its surface. 

“So, what are the children’s plans for today?” he asks after a while. 

That’s, at the very least, an easy subject for him to choose. “Unfortunately, they need to tackle some homework this morning. Perhaps I’ll make it up to them in the afternoon with some excursion.” 

Jaime nods, leaning back on his chair. With the sun on his hair and the glimmer of those deep eyes, plus the permanent broad smile he’s got on this lips these days, he couldn’t look more comfortable and at peace right there. Nor more beautiful, too, but no one needs to know she thinks that. 

“You don’t have to worry about the afternoon’s activity. Tyrion will take the children into town to see a movie or some up-to-date play or something.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Brienne argues immediately--taking care of the children is exactly what they’re paying her for. 

“Yes, it is,” replies Jaime, in that stern and final Mr. Lannister’s voice that indicates this isn’t up to a discussion. He goes back to his work, shuffling the papers on the table, albeit he doesn’t focus on any of them. “They couldn’t be happier to have Tyrion around and he enjoys spending time with the kids, too. 

“It’ll give you a rare afternoon off. Take it, Miss Tarth. You’re owed so.” 

Abiding Mr. Lannister’s order, Brienne keeps quiet, without mentioning how wrong and awkward it’ll feel to spend the whole afternoon sitting on her hands, nothing to do, while Jaime and Baroness Cersei roam the mansion. 

Still, she supposes she could use the time off. No chance of going to Vienna, that’s for sure, but she can call home and talk at great length with her father and Podrick. Samwell also, to be up to date with her father’s condition and, well, everything going on back home. Maybe an afternoon to herself won’t be such a bad idea, after all. She could also do some laundry. 

“I should go,” settles Brienne when she finishes her coffee. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Indeed,” nods Jaime. “Have a good day, Miss Tarth.” 

Already buried in his paperwork, he waves goodbye at her with his stump. Brienne takes the mug of coffee inside to the kitchen and before she can attempt to rinse it, Mia takes it off her hands. 

Showered and changed within fifteen minutes, Brienne texts her father to let him know she’ll be able to speak with him in the afternoon. Her father’s joyfulness lifts up Brienne’s spirits and not even Arya’s fighting or Gendry’s and Rickon’s exasperation concerning homework can bring her down today. 

They do sound excited about the afternoon out with their uncle, discussing all the movies and theater plays they’d be excited to watch. Brienne agrees and gives her opinion whenever they ask her, but for the main part remains silent and is relegated to the sidelines. Is it strange for her to feel wrong that the children are going out with their uncle in the afternoon? Beyond the fact that she’s paid to look after them, that is. She feels a strange aching in her stomach hearing them making all sorts of plans for the afternoon, trying to get their uncle to confess what they’re going to do, without considering her. She’s spent almost every waking moment with those seven children for weeks now, after all. How is she supposed to spend a whole afternoon in silence and in solitude, without their yelling, cheering, and arguing? Not even at home did she ever enjoy any ‘alone’ and ‘silent’ time throughout the day, at least until Podrick fell asleep. 

Well, damn it, she’ll confess so: she misses them ten minutes after they’re gone with Tyrion. 

Before she starts feeling homesick towards children that are not her own and that she’ll have to learn to live without once she leaves this mansion, not too long from now, she gets her phone and calls her father. 

“Hey, Dad.” 

“Hello, honey. It’s so nice to hear your voice.” 

Brienne sits on one of the stone benches of the gardens, facing the lake, the wind ruffling her now longer golden hair, the leaves on the trees above her head. She does not realize how she raises her voice throughout her conversations with her father, Sam, and Podrick, nor the way her powerful voice travels easily through the open field, even reaching Jaime, working on the side terrace. 

After she finishes with all the phone calls, Brienne no longer feels as elated and empowered as she felt in the morning at the prospect of contacting her family. Leaving her cell phone behind, she does go for a walk through the grounds, trying to physically get away from the device and the conversations. She briefly ponders the possibility of ringing Renly and Loras and invite herself over for a few drinks, but discards the idea as soon as it pops out. She doesn’t want them to draw any incorrect conclusions out of seeking refuge in their home again, now that Mr. Lannister’s back home. Granted, she hasn’t just visited them for an unhealthy intake of alcoholic drinks, such as when she brought them some of Jorah Mormont’s cookies, but it wouldn’t be proper to disappear for a few hours and then pop back up tipsy, much less drunk. 

And so, she returns to the Lannister household when she’s still fifteen minutes away from Renly’s and Loras. She should have changed into her sporting gear, for she was almost jogging in order to clear her mind and has now broken a sweat. She first collects her cell phone from the bench she was at earlier, and after a quick shower and a change of clothes, she drops on the bed with her computer to distract herself with some stupid blockbuster movie she might find. 

Before the computer turns on, she remembers she’s just finished the book she borrowed from the library, which she should return before someone misses it. Groaning and cursing her own name for her ability to inconvenience herself with her promptitude, for she was looking forward a little nap before dinner, she gets out of bed. 

With the prospect of that nap in mind, she goes straight to the Library and turns to the left, to the shelves. 

“Well, knock yourself out, please.” 

She squeals as she turns around, towards the desk in the darkened corner. The book slips through her hand and she clutches her heart, trying to jump away but only meeting against the shelves, hitting her back. 

_Why is Mr. Lannister everywhere I go?_ She tries to do her job and attend the children, but time and time again, just like this morning with the coffee at the terrace, he’s there whenever she looks above her shoulder. Smiling and with an easy-going stand, yes, which is reassuring, but it also irritates and exhausts her. He’s forcing her to have eyes at the back of her skull, to look for not only seven children but also for an eighth human being. 

He turns on the light on the desk and stands, just to prove he’s not the bogeyman. 

“I’m sorry,” whispers Brienne when she can compose herself. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Clearly,” nods Mr. Lannister. “Was it you or the kids, who took that book?”

Brienne needs to clear her dry throat before coming clean. “Me, sir.” 

Jaime raises one eyebrow at the title she used but says nothing as he steps closer, kneels and grabs the book from the floor, checking the cover and back cover for any unforgivable wounds. Brienne holds her breath as Jaime inspects the book, hoping she didn’t damage any invaluable historical first edition or something. Instead, Jaime simply stands and puts the book back to its proper place on the shelf. 

“Good choice,” he approves. “Didn’t get a chance to read the classics in your youth?” 

“No, I have read Jane Eyre. I just saw it the other day and I. . .” Unable to explain why she took that one book to reread exactly, she cannot finish her sentence. 

Jaime tilts his head and smiles at her. He’s silent for a second and then seems to realize how close they were standing, for he takes a step back. Brienne also breathes better with a bit more of personal space. 

“You’re free to take any books you wish, of course,” he says. “The whole Library’s at your disposal.” 

It doesn’t really feel like that’s what he wanted to say in the beginning, but he gives Brienne no choice to question him, as he spins around and returns to his desk. He grabs a fountain pen and some papers, caressing his forehead with his prosthetic hand, seemingly unaware of Brienne’s presence anymore. Considering the best she could do is to move on as well, Brienne faces her back to Jaime. 

She wasn’t planning on taking another book from the Library, but now that Jaime’s given her his blessing, she may at least check out what titles they own. 

Her mood’s improved so much with that awkward and brief conversation, she’ll say that. Now that she’s got permission to do so, meaning that she’s not breaking any by-laws of her contract or committing any personal atrocity against Jaime himself, she might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Ever since that night where she discovered the Library, she’s been dying to find the time to check it out full, to wander mindlessly throughout classic authors and others she’s never heard about. . . Every time she stepped into this room in the past, it felt like a transgression of sorts, and now she’s set to make the best of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

There are just dozens upon dozens of books she hasn’t read and will never truly have the time to read, without mentioning all those books she’s twitching to read again, only so she could have between her hands such beautiful and old editions. If she were alone, she’d take some books now and then, caress those covers, even smell the pages and the ancient, dry ink. 

_“You look happy to meet me. . .”_

Jaime’s singing out of the blue makes Brienne spin around again, the books all but forgotten. Behind his desk, he looks almost as surprised as she is for her to have heard him singing, that grave and soft voice that barely reached her. 

_What was that supposed to mean? _Brienne ponders, shocked and confused by the line he chose to sing without prior announcement. 

“That’s how the song goes, doesn’t it?” he asks. 

“I’m sorry--What song?” 

“The one you were humming right now,” Jaime says, pointing at her with the pen. “Edelweiss?” 

“I. . . I was?” she asks, scratching the back of her neck, feeling a blush coming in. Great, now she cannot even control herself or tell when she’s singing or not. And she bothered Jaime in his work and made him sing along, too. “I didn’t realize. I apologize.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says, softly. 

“It must have been that,” says Brienne, pointing at a lonely Edelweiss sitting on a small jar filled with water on Jaime’s desk. Her brain must have noticed the flower and the song just popped up in her mind without her even realizing it. 

“Well, it’s a beautiful song for a beautiful flower,” he replies. 

“Yes.” 

Brienne keeps her eyes down on the white flower in the jar as to avoid a staring contest against those big and sparkling eyes of Jaime’s. When she can’t handle the situation no more, she just excuses herself and leaves the Library without any other book under her arms. 

The children coming back is a blessing in disguise. They’re all so excited after the play Tyrion took them to, that there’s no chance for Brienne to put in a single word, much less Jaime, for they feel the need to explain the play scene by scene in great detail. As Brienne has to help Rickon out with his steak, she manages to avoid Jaime and his eyes and his singing completely at dinner. After putting the children to sleep, she goes straight to her room, hoping Jaime nor Tyrion will doubt her being tired in spite of not doing much today. 

_Why am I, still, avoiding Mr. Lannister as much as possible?_ When she managed not to get sacked on his return, now that the man has accepted music into his life, into his children’s lives, things should get better between the two. She simply couldn’t be more wrong. It just feels as if Mr. Lannister, plain and simple, hated her guts. 

And that’s difficult to accept for Brienne. She’s not delusional enough to believe she’s never crossed paths with someone who ended up hating her for some reason, but in the long run, she also never moved in with the guy and worked as a governess for that same man’s children. It makes her feel so conscious all day long, which leads to her behaving all cautious whenever Mr. Lannister is in a room or within the hearing range. 

She is aware, however, of how much Mr. Lannister is trying, and how far he’s come in the past few weeks alone. Just the other day, the kids returned from their ‘walk’ later than usual and, yes, she’ll confess, they were a mess. They had been riding--well, trying too, on her case--and they were a complete mess, their dresses and playing clothes all dirty in mud and grass, not to mention their hair, faces, and hands. Brienne saw Mr. Lannister taking a very deep breath and his mind snapping out of his first irrational reaction, as in telling them off. Instead, after a two-second break that felt like a decade for Brienne and the kids, he simply laughed, made a joke, and sent them all to shower and change before lunch. 

Later that night, the children suggest they should order some take-out and make a movie night out of the occasion. They don’t really need to beg that much before their Father concedes to anything they suggest--the man would give them whatever they’d ask for without stopping to think about it. Thank the Gods the children haven’t caught up on it yet, or the Lannister Empire and treasury would be totally blown away after a couple of hours if the children had their way. The only one Mr. Lannister dares to say ‘no’ to without fearing falling out of her good graces is Arya, but that’s just because she hasn’t really changed her behavior from ‘before’, so Mr. Lannister still knows how to deal with her. 

As for the rest, the man would give them anything they’d ask for and more. He probably would have gone to extreme lengths for his children before Brienne got here as well, though--the difference is, the children wouldn’t dare asking before, and now they do. As soon as they suggest the idea of a take-out, Mr. Lannister’s got the phone on his hand. 

“No sushi, though,” he replies, making everyone frown. No one’s got any shellfish allergies, Brienne recalls. “It’s got something fishy about it.” 

“Father!!” the seven children complain, whereas Brienne, behind the family, can’t help but roll her eyes. Oh, yes. The never-ending dad jokes. One downside of Mr. Lannister opening up to his children and the rest of the family is his astonishing facet of a lame-ass comedian-to-be. By now Brienne’s almost certain he must be sacrificing sleeping hours to come up with or research more ‘dad jokes’, because she never knew there _were_ that many, and still he comes up with new ones every day. 

For example, he finally got to the hairdresser and did something with his hair--soon, he’d have started complaining that he’d lost eyesight because of all that hair falling in front of his eyes whenever he read something. Jon was the first one to remark that Mr. Lannister had gotten a haircut. At that, the man chuckled and shook his head. 

“I didn’t get a haircut. I got them all cut,” he said, getting groans and scowls all over the place, as all the kids forgot about the haircut and went through to dinner. 

Or when Brandon complained that he couldn’t tie his shoes and begged to return to the velcro-type of tennis shoes, Mr. Lannister went with: “I will never buy anything with velcro again. It’s a total rip-off.” 

That’s another change that’s overcome the family and, to be honest, she’s still in two minds about it being positive or negative. 

All in all, they order Chinese for dinner, and then comes the other struggle for the night: choosing a movie. With an age difference of ten years from Robb to Brandon, and so many different tastes in between, it’s difficult to agree on a film. Options vary from a Disney movie to a blockbuster to a musical. In the end, they opt for Disney, out of respect for Brandon, agreeing that maybe there’ll be time for a second movie after the youngsters get to bed. Arya, the strongest defender of Kill Bill, only stays with them in the living room because of the food and the rule forbidding eating in their bedrooms. 

Sitting in a corner in the darkness, Brienne smiles at the way Mr. Lannister interacts with his children, laughing and joking as he steals popcorn from the bowl, throws some of them at his children just to piss them off, and spend the whole movie explaining different tidbits about it. 

These past few weeks, he’s also been the target of some innocent pranks from the seven kids, and instead of getting angry about it, he couldn’t be happier to be his children’s victims. They put a plastic snake on his office’s drawers, put salt in his coffee, they cut out the morning’s newspaper to spell one of his terrible dad jokes--provided they charged Franz with ordering two newspapers that morning, of course. Brienne has slowly started to enjoy and getting used to hearing Mr. Lannister’s laughter every day somewhere around the Mansion, and every day she looks forward to hearing it more and more. At some point, she’s even helped the children with the pranks, albeit safe in the anonymity. 

Neither Jaime nor the kids thought such a relationship was possible. Sure, when Mr. Lannister decided not to fire her, they all made compromises, they all had high hopes for the future, but deep down, they were just as scared. But Jaime’s opening up, he’s not afraid to spend some time with his own children--now, he almost cherishes playing games with them, or simply chatting, or watching a movie--and they react to his own excitement and pure joy. 

For the first few days after Mr. Lannister got back, the kids actually thanked her for whatever she did. Brienne did never explain what sort of conversation she had with their Father down the lake and afterwards in her room, for they do not need to know the specifics of Mr. Lannister and her own humiliation. But they’re not blind, and know that whatever she said, made all the difference and helped Mr. Lannister take the first step towards building a real relationship with his children. And so, the children have been awfully nice to her lately. While putting Rickon to sleep one night, he hugged her tightly and wouldn’t release her. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Robb, Sansa, and Jon also kept her back one morning to thank her, and also to apologize because, despite their promises, they felt as if they hadn’t done enough for her. 

“I told you, it wasn’t your place to protect my job,” she reassured them. 

“Still--” 

“Stop thanking me. Just enjoy your time with your Father,” she instructed, and they went ahead and did just that, for that day they took a stroll on their horses with their Father. Brienne, of course, took one of the bicycles. 

Every night the kids go to sleep with smiles on their faces and, upstairs in her room, after practicing song after song for the kids until her fingers hurt like they haven’t hurt in years, so does Brienne. Mr. Lannister’s words on that day, _‘You’ve helped this family more than you already know’,_ have stayed with her and slowly start to sink in. Without wanting to take credit and feel smart about what she’s done at the mansion ever since Mr. Lannister hired her, she can at the very least acknowledge the change the kids and Mr. Lannister have gone through, and the relationship developing right in front of her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who love the song 'Edelweiss' as much as I do, do not worry, that was just a tease !! The whole 'Edelweiss' song will be performed fully in the next chapter !  
Good news is, I'll probably publish 2 chapters this week :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their talk with Mr. Lannister, Brienne figured that things should be easier around the house. Taking care of the children certainly got a whole lot easier. But for some reason, she still feels worried and uneasy about something. . . Could it be Mr. Lannister? Could it be Baroness Schraeder? Could it be her heart? Who knows ! (Brienne certainly doesn't xD )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the week !! Have a blessed weekend everyone !!

Another thunder reverberates through the mansion and Brienne shuts the blinders to her window, feeling sorry for the kids today. In the morning, she’d promised she’d take them all outside for the afternoon if they fulfilled their homework. But then the rain came, and lest they’d caught a cold, they were forced to remain the whole day indoors.

Still, it wasn’t a wasted afternoon--they had the time to rehearse ‘The Lonely Goatherd’ once more. Yodeling is tricky for most singers, let alone Brienne herself, and so much more for some of the kids. Bran and Rickon can barely attempt it, so instead Brienne put them in charge of painting the decorations and background landscapes for the puppet theatre, with the obvious help from Gendry.

Brienne settles on the bed, covering up with the blankets even though she’s not cold at all--the weather just calls for blankets and hot cocoa, which is exactly what’s waiting for her there on the bedside table.

The door slams open then and Bran dashes through the room, jumping onto the bed and leaning against Brienne’s side. He stays there like an unmovable force, just shivering when another thunder strikes, without letting Brienne pull him away for an inch to allow blood flow to return to her arm.

“Hello to you too, Bran,” she says politely. “You’re not scared of the storm, are you?”

“Yes!” he shrieks. “Yes, I am!”

His voice muffled by yet another thunder, Brienne hears more footsteps coming their way and, sure enough, only two seconds later it’s Rickon, Gendry, Sansa, and Arya showing up. Brienne doesn’t pry to judge, but. . . She can understand Bran’s and Rickon’s cases, not the rest. Also, the fact that they should come to her, and not their Father, and moreover, the fact that their Father has no idea they’re still scared of thunders and has no plan of action under such circumstances. . . What sort of childhood have they all suffered in the absence of real parents?

“Alright, everybody, up to the bed,” she says, waving them all in.

“Really?” yells Gendry, his eyes lighting up as if on Christmas day. Rickon doesn’t even ask, he just dashes forward and lands by Brienne’s free side, claiming the second-best spot on the bed.

“Just this once,” warns Brienne, pulling the blanket, as everybody files after Gendry and Brandon. Thank Gods it’s a king-size bed, for, at her place in Vienna, no more than two people would fit in. But here, everyone can settle in comfortably. “Now we’ll wait for the older boys.”

“You won’t see them,” says Rickon. “They’re brave.”

But just as he was saying those words, Jon and Robb show up too, although they hold their heads high, still trying to keep up the façade. Brienne swallows back a chuckle, for now, she understands Sansa’s reasons for coming along too.

“You weren’t scared, were you?” asks Brienne.

“Oh, no,” replies Jon, waving the idea away with his hand.

“We just wanted to be sure that _you_ weren’t.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Robb,” appreciates Brienne. She can see the delight in their eyes and knows she cannot send them away at this point, even if it’s well past their bedtime. She wouldn’t manage to send any of them off to their rooms, now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way, either. “Come on, everybody, up here.” 

As all seven children cheer in celebration, another thunder strikes, and Rickon and Bran hide by Brienne’s sides, shivering. She caresses their hair, forcing them out of their hiding places, but she can tell some of the older kids--Gendry, maybe even Arya--are pulling off their bravados as best as they can. 

“Why does it do that?” complains Bran. 

“Well, the lightning talks to the thunder, and then the thunder answers,” Brienne explains softly. 

“Then lightning must be nasty,” says Rickon. 

“Not really,” laughs Brienne, leaning to give him a quick peck. 

“But why does the thunder get so angry?” shrieks Bran. 

Brienne smiles. It is kind of her job to soothe their worries and help them whenever they’re close to tears. If it’s through a song, so be it--or even better. Music has done so much for these kids already, it can still do so much more. “You know, whenever I’m feeling unhappy, I just try to think of nice things.” 

“What kind of things?” Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa ask at the same time. 

“Well, let me see. Nice things, nice things. . .” Brienne pretends to ponder for a couple of seconds, with a big grin on her lips. She already knows exactly what to say. “Daffodils. Green meadows. Skies full of stars. 

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens _  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels _  
_Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles _  
_Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, _  
_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,_  
_Silver white winters that melt into springs. _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_When the dog bites, when the bee stings, _  
_When I'm feeling sad. _  
_I simply remember my favorite things _  
_And then I don’t feel so bad_

“Does it work?” demands Rickon, already jumping on the bed. 

“Of course! What do you like?” 

“Pussy willow!” he yells, making everyone else laugh. Brienne then turns towards Bran, and he provides the next example: 

“Christmas!” 

“Bunny rabbits!” adds Gendry. 

“Snakes!” is Arya’s contribution, launching against Brienne as if she were said deadly animal, making Brienne and all her siblings retreat to the sides while bursting out laughing. 

“Chocolate icing!” says Robb. 

“No school!” That’s Arya again. Everyone fills in: birthday presents, ladybugs, a good sneeze, singing, sunsets, bouquets of flowers, pranking, chocolate, popcorn and movies, bedtime stories, rowing, riding, popping bubble wrap, puppies, the smell of rain on the grounds. . . Soon enough everyone talks over everyone to get a say in, and no one’s concerned anymore for the thunderstorm. A small part of her does register that most of the things they’re listing, they’ve done recently with her, but she opts not to read too much into it. They all know the relationship the kids have with their Father. 

“See what fun it is?” asks Brienne afterwards, jumping off the bed and taking Rickon with her. 

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens _  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels _  
_Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles _  
_Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _

Brienne dances with Rickon for a bit before laying him on the floor--by then, no one stays on the bed anymore. She then pairs up Arya with Gendry, Sansa with Jon, Robb with Rickon and Brandon in a circle, and makes them all dance together, while they all join in the singing too. 

_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, _  
_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,_  
_Silver white winters that melt into springs. _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_When the dog bites, when the bee stings,_  
_When I'm feeling sad. _  
_I simply remember my favorite things _  
_And then I don’t feel so bad. _

A little later, after repeating the whole song at least half a dozen times, they’re all exhausted. Brienne couldn’t bring herself to drag them across the hallway to their chambers so she invites them all over to her bed again. Suddenly, she finds Brandon and Rickon under each of her arms, Arya struggling to find a spot between Gendry and Rickon so Brienne can, extending her arm, caress her hair too. Every kid is somehow in physical contact with Brienne: her feet touch Jon’s and Robb’s side down the bed, Sansa’s sleeping against her thigh, Gendry’s got his arm over Arya to rest on her stomach. 

It’s somewhat of an awkward and uncomfortable sleeping pattern, but none of the children would trade it for anything, and Brienne cherishes all those seven deep breathing around her, hoping at the same time none of them will wake up with backaches or any other afflictions. 

Was that simply her exhausted mind? Or was that truly Mr. Lannister standing on the doorstep of her room? She cannot confirm nor deny her vision, for she’s falling asleep. . . Maybe it's just a product of her imagination, but she can swear she dozes off with an image of Mr. Lannister smiling as he looks down on his children on the bed, a mixture of pride at seeing them with her, and forlorn for not being the one they went to. . .

What isn’t a vision is Mr. Lannister waiting for her in the morning out in the terrace to offer her the usual cup of coffee, with the exact amount of sugar and milk that she usually takes. What isn’t a vision either is Mr. Lannister snooping around later in the morning as Brienne attempts to play the big-ass piano the Lannisters own. Peeking through the half-open doors, she’s the only one to see the man standing out there in the hall, and they nod at each other, formally, without truly knowing what that gesture means to either of them. Something in the intense look he gives her, makes Brienne miss a couple of notes on a row. By the time she focuses back on the music sheet and resumes the tempo of the kids’ singing, he’s long gone.

What isn’t a vision is meeting Mr. Lannister again at the Library the next night, late in the evening, way past the children’s bedtime. She believed Tyrion and the Baroness had already called it a day too, and thought that even if Mr. Lannister was awake still, he’d be working in his study at most. 

But alas, he’s there in the Library, lying on a couch, easy to spot thanks to the lamplight by his side, reading a few documents. He sees her as soon as she steps into the Library, and hence she’s got no means of escaping unnoticed, nor can she make a run for it without making it worse. 

“Sorry to barge in,” she stutters. 

“Don’t apologize,” he replies immediately, waving for her to step in. 

As she complies, Brienne can’t help but see the tired and dreadful expression on Jaime’s eyes, and realizes that disturbing him for a few minutes of pleasurable reading time was a very, very bad idea. 

She sits on a couch opposite to his position, back straight, without opening her book--she couldn't possibly sit idly by reading while he's still in there, with that forlorn expression on his eyes that she's getting to see more and more frequently. “Are you alright?” she asks softly, biting her tongue just before the titles ‘sir’ or ‘captain’ escape her lips. 

“Actually, I’m all-left these days,” he replies, raising his prosthetic. 

Brienne scowls, leaning back on his chair. She was trying to show compassion and empathy for the man and he ruined it all with another of his stupid jokes, for the seven Hells. Jaime also realizes his mistake, for he clears his throat and changes the subject. 

“What’s this week’s book, then?” he asks, pointing at Brienne’s lap. 

“Crime and punishment,” she says, raising the book for Mr. Lannister to see its cover. She sees a smile fighting on those lips as he shifts his position on the couch. 

“Oh, I see. Give me a moment. . . 'Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must have great sadness on earth',” he recites slowly, his eyes closed to remember the exact quote. 

Done with his literary moment, he gives her a smug grin, leaving Brienne a bit awe-struck. She composes herself after two seconds. 

“Is quoting Dostoevsky supposed to impress me, Mr. Lannister?” she dares. 

“No, I suppose not,” he reckons in a chuckle. After that, Jaime drops his eyes, collecting the few documents he’s got scattered around the couch--maybe hiding his face from her now? She cannot tell, but he is avoiding her eye. 

“I--I didn’t mean to make you leave,” she says, jumping to her feet too, not knowing where she went wrong throughout the conversation. 

“That’s okay, I was done with all of this either way,” he replies softly, pointing at the varying documents and folders under his arm. “And I’m sure you’ll appreciate Dostoevsky even more in the solitude and silence of the room. Enjoy your night, Miss Tarth.” 

“Likewise--” Jaime has already disappeared through the door by the time Brienne finishes that single word. She feels bad for driving him away, still uncertain of how did she manage to mess the conversation up so badly in such a short time. But since she’s been given permission to stay here and she was, after all, looking forward to some peace and quiet to read, she stays there at the Library for about half an hour. 

That afternoon is the big opening night for their puppet show, ‘The Lonely Goatherd’. The Baroness sits through it just as Jaime and Tyrion. Laughs, encourages the children and applauds at the end just as much as their father and uncle, and Brienne has to give the Baroness credit for all that. Because, if anyone were to ask her--not that anyone’s interested in her opinion--the kids look nowhere pleased with their Father’s plans concerning the Baroness. 

“She’s such a bore!” Arya was complaining one afternoon where Tyrion, Jaime, and the Baroness had left for a walk. “She never wants to play with us.” 

“Can you blame her?” Gendry replied. “Who’d want to play with you, you beast?” 

“Come on, the other day we invited her to an excursion to the mountains with us and she refused,” agreed Brandon. “She said that her shoes weren’t suitable!”

“Well, maybe they weren’t,” Sansa supplied. “Appropriate shoes are important.” 

“As if she couldn’t have changed,” complained Arya. “Or bought another pair on one of her shopping sprees in the city!” 

Throughout their arguments, Jon, Robb, and Sansa tend to remain silent, though. They seem to understand what’s in store for them and their siblings, Brienne realizes in the forlorn looks the older siblings exchange every time the Baroness comes up in their conversation. As per Brandon and Rickon, their complaints usually only involve the Baroness’ continuous refusal to play with them or to do anything that small kids would find enjoyable. 

Brienne’s only inputs in those instances are trying to convince them that they’re going to have to make an effort to bond with her and get to know the woman. She called it a period trial, just as it was for her, still today, with their Father. After all, her job isn’t to be a mediator between the children and their Father--well, not exactly--but if Mr. Lannister asked her the children’s opinion on the Baroness, simply out of curiosity, she’d be forced to confess that they don’t seem to like the Baroness very much. 

“Well done, Fräulein. I really am very much impressed.” praises Jaime, genuinely, after the puppet show. The children have already run off to the living room with their uncle, begging if they can keep the puppets he bought them, and Brienne’s all alone with Jaime and the Baroness. She tries not to think too much about it and just talks about the kids. 

“They’re your children, sir,” she replies, smiling deeply. “You just have to give them the chance to prove all they can do.” 

Little left to say, Jaime offers the Baroness his arm to walk out of the room. 

“My dear, is there anything you can’t do?” asks the Baroness. 

“Well, I’m quite adaptive and flexible, I guess,” says Brienne, blatantly ignoring the Baroness’ cold and mocking tone. “I’ve been in and out of jobs for years, now, so I can do pretty much anything you throw at me.” 

“Oh, if you have any problems in the future, I’d be happy to help you,” says the Baroness, although she does not look that much intent on giving Brienne a hand. 

Already at the threshold of the room, Jaime allows Baroness Cersei to step outside first and then, out of politeness, waves at Brienne to walk out second, so he shuts the door. Tyrion was waiting for them out in the hall, keeping quiet about his news in spite of the kids’ insistence, the seven children always following him around like sunflowers do to the sun. 

“Attention, everyone!” he yells, as if in front of a big audience, making Brienne smile--Tyrion does love being in the spotlight, doesn’t he. “I have an announcement to make. Surprise, surprise! Today, after a long and desperate search. . . I have found a most exciting entry for the Salzburg Folk Festival.” 

“Congratulations, Tyrion,” praises Jaime. “And who is it?” 

“The Saint Ignatius Choir?” ventures the Baroness. 

Tyrion laughs. “Guess again.” 

“Well, let me see now,” ponders Mr. Lannister. “The Kopmann Choir?” 

“No, no.” 

“Tell us!” the children beg. Tyrion cannot resist the children’s pleas anymore that their own Father can and he gives in. 

“A singing group all in one family. You’ll never guess, Jaime.”  
“What a charming idea!” praises the man, and Brienne looks down on the floor so no one sees she’s having a hard time fighting the laughter. How can Jaime not see where his brother is going with this? She truly hopes his keen eye for business is much more intuitive than this. “Whose family?” 

Tyrion laughs again. “Yours,” he says simply. “They’ll be the talk of the Festival!” 

Everyone holds their breath at Jaime’s reaction, including Brienne. It would mean so much if Mr. Lannister would say yes--for him, for the children, for the family. . . And, on a more personal and narcissistic note, to herself too. It’d prove that all her struggles in this household will have paid off to incredibly beneficial results. 

After a few seconds, Jaime starts laughing under his breath. Not at all the response anyone would have guessed. 

“Well, now, what’s so funny?” demands Tyrion. 

“You are, dear brother. You’re expensive, but very funny.” Jaime turns towards the living room, still laughing, and everyone follows in--Tyrion will not give up. 

“They’ll be a sensation!” 

“No, Tyrion,” begs Jaime, as he pours a glass of port wine. 

“It’s a wonderful idea. Fresh, original.” 

“Tyrion!” Jaime yells in the end, spinning to glare at his brother. “My children do not sing in public. That’s the end of it.” 

At that, Tyrion sighs deeply, finally giving up. As a sign of surrender, he accepts the glass of wine his brother offers and retreats to an armchair, the Baroness sitting by his side. In a gesture to show she won’t push Mr. Lannister on the subject either, Brienne retreats too and joins the children, kneeling on the floor, as the Baroness takes a seat on an armchair and Jaime pours two more drinks. 

“Father!” the children yell in unison. 

The man in question looks over his shoulder at the sudden commotion, wondering what on Earth his children have prepared now. They’re all looking at him intently, big grins on their faces, and when Brienne picks up her guitar from the corner, his worse fears are unfortunately confirmed. 

“The vote is unanimous, sir,” she says, proudly standing as tall as she is. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, although he completely does understand. 

“The children would like to hear from you.” 

“No, no, no, no,” he keeps repeating. Jaime shakes his head and puts down his drink, walking past Brienne and the guitar, only to meet the expectant and excited faces of his children. 

“I’m told you were quite good,” insists Brienne. The couple times she’s heard him singing, it wasn’t that bad at all. She’s as interested as the children themselves in hearing Jaime, Mr. Nice and Proper, sing a full song without interruptions. 

“That was a very, very, very, _very_ long time ago.” 

“I remember,” replies Robb. 

“Please?” beg all seven children, and Brienne smiles at the surrender in his body language. He shouldn’t feel bad about it, she’s just as incapable of saying no to his children than he is. 

“Just tell me the song and I’ll accompany you,” she suggests. 

Jaime gives her a look she cannot decipher at the moment, nor wants to analyze in front of the children or the Baroness, and so she retreats to a corner. In the meantime, the children sit on the floor, and Jaime draws blank--no words, songs or ideas coming up to him. So she decides to fill in the silence before it becomes uncomfortable, playing the first notes to one song she’s certain the man knows: Edelweiss. 

She stops for a second after the first chord, just to make sure he knows what song she’s about to play. Jaime takes a second to collect himself, clearing his throat before nodding at her, proving that he’s nowhere ready to sing. 

_Edelweiss, Edelweiss _  
_Every morning you greet me. _  
_Small and white, clean and bright _  
_You look happy to meet me. _  
_Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow _  
_Bloom and grow forever _  
_Edelweiss, Edelweiss _  
_Bless my homeland forever _

Shy and low at first couple of lines, Jaime turns to sing at Brienne while she accompanies him on the guitar, and his voice is stronger and more confident from then on. Deep and soft, Brienne listens intently at Jaime, making sure to pause whenever he needs to take a breath, playing faster whenever he unconsciously speeds up the tempo, and she finds herself thinking: he does sing beautifully. 

Everything and everyone else disappears. At that moment, there’s only Jaime, his beautiful soft and deep voice, his eyes, his smile, the lyrics coming back to him with ease; and Brienne standing in the corner, her fingers on the guitar strings playing without fear of forgetting or missing any of the notes. No Baroness, no children, no Tyrion. Just Jaime singing and her playing on the guitar. 

Caught up in the moment, she realizes everyone in the room is staring at them and she waves at Sansa to join in. She sits on the couch by Jaime and he finally breaks eye with Brienne to sing the duet with his daughter. He looks into Sansa’s eyes, takes her hand with his left, as they begin the canon in the second round of the song. This allows Brienne to take a deep breath to compose and stop herself from blushing in the darkness of the corner, the eyes of the Baroness and uncle Tyrion locked on her neck. 

_Edelweiss, Edelweiss _  
_Every morning you greet me... _

Jaime manages to make Brienne catch her breath again when by the end of the song he turns to look at her once more, addressing the very last sentence, ‘Bless my homeland forever’ only to her. For a second, Brienne forgets about everyone else in the room and just holds his eye, his soft and proud voice and eyes after getting through the whole song, congratulating him on a song well sung with a warm smile. 

They’re both startled when the children, Tyrion, and the Baroness applaud and cheer their frankly beautiful performance. Brienne drops her guitar, leaning it against the wall, and Jaime turns his attention towards his children, letting them all hug him in the stupor and amazement of hearing him singing. 

“I have a wonderful idea, Jaime,” says Baroness Cersei, standing from her chair and sitting by Jaime’s side. “Let’s _really_ fill this house with music. You must give a grand and glorious party for me.” 

“A party?” repeats the man, shocked--a reaction opposite to the children, who start cheering gleefully at the prospect. 

“Yes, Father, please!” 

“It’s high time I met all your friends and they met me, don’t you agree?” presses the Baroness. 

“I see what you mean,” chuckles Jaime. 

“Oh, please, Father!” the children keep insisting. Brienne finds it appropriate to step in on behalf of poor Jaime’s stead. He’s just struggling through the song he’s just sung with his daughter, the Baroness has suggested an idea he never meant to agree to and is now having his hand forced into throwing a party by his own children. The poor man does deserve a break. 

“Children, it’s past your bedtime,” she says, albeit it’s not exactly true--it just was the first excuse she could come up with. “Come now, say goodnight.” 

They all abide without any arguments, bidding farewell to their Father, uncle, and the Baroness. Brienne stays by the door while they all hug and kiss their Father goodnight, something that a few weeks ago they’d have believed to be impossible. Jaime sends her a relieved look across the room for sparing him from making any decisions, although he’s not exactly off the hook. Just before leaving the living room, Rickon turns around to say: 

“It’ll be my first party, Father!” with such joy and glee in his voice that it’ll be impossible for Jaime to refuse to throw a ball now. Brienne smiles apologetically at him as she shuts the door so Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion can enjoy some quiet time alone--she will not apologize, however, for the children’s excitement, nor talk them out of it. Jaime would have probably surrendered to their wishes sooner rather than later. 

Surprisingly enough, it’s the older siblings, this time around, who’re less sure that the event will take place in the end. 

“Do you really think Father’s going to hold a ball?” Sansa asks her when Brienne comes around her and Arya’s room to turn off the lights. Brienne’s heart breaks, for she understands they mistrust their Father the most because Jaime has had the time to break more of the promises he made them, and so they simply cannot be sure. 

“You’ll have to ask him,” Brienne says, non-commital, just in case. 

The younger kids, however, don’t have a doubt in their hearts, Gods bless them. 

“Could we maybe prepare a song to sing at the ball?” Brandon asks as she tucks him in. “Do you believe Father will allow that?” 

“I can teach you any songs you’d like,” agrees Brienne. “Come on, go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

At long last, she gets to drop the pretense and shy herself in her room. At that moment, she hears a door closing and three sets of footsteps climbing up the stairs to the second floor. 

Brienne lets herself slide to the floor and doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even dare to breathe, as Jaime, Baroness Schraeder, and Tyrion past by her chambers to their bedrooms, and then stays there on the ground for some minutes more. 

Time and time again those eyes keep piercing her heart and soul, catching her breath. That beautiful shade of blue, the glimmer of pure happiness and pride she saw in the eyes, the shy little smile Jaime addressed her throughout the song, and that final shrug of shoulders he did by the end, as if he was uncertain if he’d sang properly and waited for her approval. Every glance, every movement, every single second of that song, even the slight blush on his cheeks--it’s all stuck in fire in her mind. 

_He does sing wonderfully,_ Brienne agrees. But that’s not the only conclusion she can extract from the song they performed downstairs--or perhaps that should be the only conclusion, and she shouldn’t read anything more into it. Alas, she’s still sitting against the door, her heart pounding as if she’d returned from her jogging session, in the darkness broken only by the moonlight. She can’t even bring herself to change or to call Margaery, for that conversation would warrant her an analysis and introspection to the singing downstairs and to her heart that Brienne just cannot face right now. 

All she’s left wondering, when she can finally get to bed, and tries not to see Jaime’s piercing eyes every time she closes her eyes, is, what in the Gods’ name happened downstairs? Should she worry? What’s this that she felt, and did Jaime felt it too during their song, or was it just her wild imagination creating impossible scenarios in her head? 

_Do not forget, Baroness Schraeder was there, too, _Brienne reminds herself. _She’s here to meet the kids; she and Mr. Lannister are to marry in a matter of weeks._ Brienne’s only mingling in the Lannister businesses is to take care of those seven children, that is all. She’s meddled in this family far more than common courtesy and a governess post to the Lannister children allows her to. To go beyond that line would be inconceivable and unforgiving, simply put.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really really hope you all like the 'Edelweiss' scene... It's one of my favorite scenes from the whole movie !!  
The second song, of course, is 'My Favorite Things' :3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the ball starts like any other day at the Lannister Mansion, but it isn’t, and Brienne knows that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball is here !   
Decided, however, to split the ball in two chapters, for I was pushing for more than 15k words, and I figured it was a bit too much as a single chapter... Hope you enjoy it nonetheless ! Also, I might publish the second part this week as well :D  
Per usual, I want to thank you all for sticking up with my story and for your amazing feedback !!

There’s only one goal and one goal only on her mind, and she goes straight towards the fridge to get a bottle of water. She takes the first sips right there holding onto the countertop, trying to catch her breath, and then wipes her lips with the back of her hand--quite a stupid gesture, for she’s sweating all over. 

“Morning, Miss Tarth,” Mia greets her. “Coffee?” 

“Two minutes,” she begs between gasps, pointing outside. 

Seeing Robb seated on the grass outside, Mia understands and nods, addressing Brienne a warm smile and retreating back to her chores. After taking another sip, Brienne returns to the hot bright day, crosses the terrace, climbs down the couple of steps to the gardens, and meets Robb. 

The boy’s got his head between his legs, eyes closed, focusing only on catching his breath until his heartbeat comes to normal. Brienne gives him a total of sixty seconds before she intrudes. 

“Here,” she says, nudging him with the bottle of water. 

Robb welcomes the water as if it was the last bottle of water in the middle of the Sahara, taking off the lid and drinking before Brienne can warn him about flatulence. Brienne just sighs and sits by his side, groaning after all the exercise, and checks her watch. 

“You’re improving,” she praises. 

“Am I?” he retorts, despair in his voice, making Brienne chuckle. 

“You really are,” she confirms, grabbing the bottle from his hands so she can take another sip as well. “I think your polo team members will be very impressed with you this year.” 

“I’m still not as good as you.” 

“Hey, remind me again when we said this was a competition?” replies Brienne. On her morning run, she usually makes it back home much earlier than today or whenever she trains with Robb, granted. But that tardiness is also the reason why Mr. Lannister is nowhere to be found out here this morning, and Brienne couldn’t care less about either one of those scenarios. 

“I know, I know,” sighs Robb, dropping his head. 

Since he’s still breathing heavily, Brienne crosses her legs and gives Robb a few more minutes to rest--they’ve got time to spare still. Under the sun, hearing the quiet rattle of the household members working inside, some birds above them singing to the morning sun. . . Brienne must agree, it does feel great out here. By the time she turns towards Robb to check in on him, he’s smiling as well. 

“Come on,” she says, jumping to her feet to help him stand as well. “You must hit the shower, and I must wake up your siblings.” 

“I really don’t envy your job,” chuckles Robb. 

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing you wouldn’t step in front of a speeding bullet for me, either,” laughs Brienne. As they step into the kitchen, Robb hands Mia the bottle of water and Brienne reaches out for her coffee, sending Robb off to take his shower. 

Watching him leave, Brienne sips her coffee. She does blush when Mia comes around again, and turns to put the mug on the sink. Nowadays, her morning routine starts with either Robb or Mr. Lannister, and she’s somehow getting used to that, enjoying the company to some degree. She’s never had a real partner for her jogging session, and it’s wonderful to see the proud and fulfilling satisfactory smile on Robb’s face day after day, whatever his complaints concerning the training. Not for the first time, Brienne finds herself wondering what would Mr. Lannister think of their jogging sessions, and what he would or wouldn’t give to see that expression on his son’s face. 

She takes a muffin and eats it right there where she stands, hoping that she’ll commit no unforgivable transgressions eating in the kitchen. It’s been kind of a stressing atmosphere around the house lately and she wouldn’t want to add up to it anymore by causing a scene with Mia or Emma. She would never, considering tonight’s the big night. 

Can’t wait, she scowls for the umpteenth time. If she can gather up any excitement at all concerning the ball, it’s because of the children’s excitement towards it, but to Brienne, it’s a dreadful prospect, and she’s not looking forward to it at all. What’s happened to those quiet nights where she could practice songs for the children on her guitar, and then read for a bit? Her only comfort is that she’ll be able to sneak away along with the children, many hours before and much fewer social interactions than the ones Mr. Lannister or Baroness Schraeder will be put through. 

As she steps out of the kitchen, Brienne needs to jump over the cord of a vacuum cleaner a steward was using--lost in thought, she’d barely seen her. 

“Apologies,” she says. 

On her way upstairs to her chambers, she meets stewards carrying silver trays with dishes, flutes, and cutlery over to the dining room; others dusting every surface and window and mirrors; others checking the watches and the pictures and portraits up in the walls. Hoping not to mess up anything as she climbs up the carpeted stairs, Brienne disappears before she riles anybody up to no neds. 

This, every household member destined to cleaning duty, has been the scenery around the Mansion for the past couple of days, ever since Mr. Lannister’s announcement that a ball was going to be held--albeit why he took so much time to make the announcement, Brienne does not know. She had no doubt whatsoever that the man would eventually give in to his children’s pleas. 

She can tell, however, that the household members have never been more stressed out cleaning the Manor. Every room Brienne goes to, there are people vacuuming, dusting off, sweeping, and the Gods know what else in order for the whole house to gleam and sparkle. Brienne had to draw the line when Frau Schmidt suggested they should also take care of her bedrooms, arguing that the ball will not be held in her room. 

All in all, as not to bother the cleaning spree too much, Brienne has tried to keep the children’s shenanigans around the house at the minimum. They’re spending as much time as possible outside the manor--today, for example, she’s taking them all to the city. They also need to make some last-minute arrangements for tonight. 

One hour later, Brienne has somehow managed to drag the seven children off to the tailor’s again. It isn’t exactly a picnic or an amusement park, much less Brienne’s go-to choice for a fun morning in the city, but it was a wish--or a command--from Mr. Lannnister, one that she was not going to dismiss this time. He wanted his kids to have tailored-fitted suits for the ball, and his children are getting their tailored-fitted suits for tonight’s ball. 

“Here you go, sir,” the tailor says, approaching Brandon on the dais, who tries his best to look as if he knew what he was doing, or at least to pretend he’s in his comfort zone--because he knows this is what his Father is used to and he should be used to it too. 

Every last workers, even though they could bloody well be the children’s grandparents, addresses the kids with ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ titles, making Brienne shiver every time. Mr. Kainz helps Brandon put on the vest and button the four buttons, then proceeds to check the stress in the back, the adjuster, and see if it covers the trouser’s waistband. Up in the dais, Brandon follows Mr. Kainz’s movements around him, trying to assess what the tailor’s assessing on the suit, which fits and feels as perfect as the three previous suits did. 

Fighting off a yawn, Brienne stands from her chair. For the most part, none of the tailors and workers mind her, especially from the moment where she put her foot down on their last visit and forbade the kids from accepting any champagne or wine during their dress-fitting sessions. She couldn’t care less about them disregarding her completely, since she’s never going to try nor buy any dresses for herself. 

She walks through the shop to find all the children: Jon, Gendry, and Rickon are on the floor playing some cards; the tailors are struggling to keep Arya still long enough for her final fitting; Sansa must have wandered off to the back of the shop again; and Robb’s sitting on a love chair against the window, dozing off. The early morning and the exertion before breakfast has certainly paid off, Brienne chuckles, letting the boy be as she goes to search for Sansa. 

The girl is indeed rummaging through the hangers, checking out dresses and hats and whatnot. An excuse to test the heels she’s wearing tonight, but the truth is, she’s the only one amongst the Lannisters children who’s thriving in here. She would have enjoyed the experience so much more if she’d had a say in the dress she’s going to wear, but her Father mandated beforehand all the dresses and suits his children were supposed to sport tonight. Still, Sansa’s making up for it. Nothing and no one could pin her down to Earth easily. Perhaps Baroness Schraeder could have helped Sansa through this whole process much better than Brienne ever could, but then again, the woman was too busy already finding her own dress. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Brienne asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes!” nods Sansa, glowing radiantly. She turns around with a hat in her hands, walks up to a mirror and tries it on, tying the ribbons down at her chest. Brienne cannot help but smile at the reflection the mirror returns; Sansa’s overflowing with excitement. “I would buy every dress they have here.” 

“I don’t think your Father could ever hold that many balls for you to wear all these dresses, missus,” confesses Brienne, taking a good look around. 

“Oh, I would make him, don’t worry.” 

“Of course, you would,” chuckles Brienne, sitting down on an armchair. 

Without wishing to spoil the girl’s dreams, she lets Sansa come and go for some minutes, checking hats, belts, diadems, and all sorts of accessories. There’s no rush; after Brandon, it’ll still be Rickon’s turn for a final fit of his suit. 

“I remember a few balls Mother threw,” says Sansa all of a sudden, her voice so soft, trying to hide the unhappiness. 

A bit shocked, surprised, and maybe worried, Brienne leans forward to encourage her to be honest with her feelings, letting Sansa know she’s here for anything and everything she wants to tell her. The children barely ever mention their Mother whenever she’s around--another rule of their Father, perhaps? Sansa’s the one who does so more often, especially on their private late-night conversations, and still, she tends to change the subject way too fast. The other two occasions where the children mentioned their late Mother was in reference to the horse she used to ride, Bertha, or her favorite dessert, Sachertorte, which neither Emma nor Mia prepare any longer. The fact that Elsa has become another taboo breaks Brienne’s heart, but unlike music, that’s one subject she cannot break down thanks to the magic of music. 

“She seemed to enjoy them so much,” Sansa keeps talking. “She looked so beautiful in her dresses, and she danced so graciously. . . The balls used to last till dawn, at the very least.” 

Unable to keep away any longer, Brienne stands behind Sansa, resting her hands on her delicate shoulders. 

“You’ll have a blast tonight, too,” she promises her. 

“I’m sure I will,” nods Sansa, and her eyes gleam again. “Did I tell you that Ramsay’s coming?” 

“You mentioned that a couple of times, yes,” chuckles Brienne. _Three dozen times at the very least,_ she adds internally, retreating back to her chair, without meaning to hurt poor Sansa and diminish her excitement for tonight. 

Sansa takes off the hat and returns it to a hanger by the corner, when she faces Brienne again. “Fräulein, are you certain that--?” 

“I am,” she interjects for what it feels like the hundredth time. 

“But--” 

“Under no circumstances, I’m asking your Father for money to buy a dress,” Brienne says again, succinct, doing her best to keep her voice low. Things might be better between her and Mr. Lannister, she will not deny that, but there’s no way in Hell she’ll lower herself to such a position where she asks the man for money, even an advance of her paycheck, to look halfway decent at the ball. She’ll make do with whatever she can find in her own wardrobe, thank you very much. In the end, she’ll be at the ball to take care of the children in her role as a governess, not to engage in social conventions, dine with Salzburg’s high élite, and much less dance with any of the guests. That is not why Mr. Lannister hired her to do, and she will not pressure him into doing anything that’ll inconvenience him--she’s done that plenty of times before already. 

“I’m just saying, he wouldn’t oppose. . .” 

“No, Sansa,” Brienne replies softly. “It’s not necessary, and that’s the end of it, alright?” 

With that, Brienne leaves Sansa to her own devices again, crossing the shop back. Robb has sort of woken up and gives her a smile as she walks by him, and then joins his siblings on whatever card game they were playing. The workers are still arguing with Arya’s dress, which she still maintains to hate, and Brienne knows for a fact she wants to stay away from that argument, as she reaches the dais where Brandon was trying his suit. Now, however, it’s Rickon on the dais, looking as uncomfortable as his sibling did a few minutes ago, while the tailor checks the silver, white tie knotted around his neck. 

“Don’t you look absolutely dashing,” she praises. Rickon smiles at that, a bit more relaxed, and then Mr. Kainz kneels, to check that the shirtsleeves do end at the break of the wrists, no further, no shorter. Another worker comes along with Rickon’s jacket and Mr. Kainz holds it for Rickon to put it on. 

It takes Rickon and Arya fifteen more minutes to finish with their fitting, and then they leave the shop. Christopher takes all of their dresses and suits, covered in plastic tailor bags to prevent damages or stains from here to the ball, and then Brienne suggests not to return to the Mansion so soon. 

Everyone agrees, and they cross the street towards the music shop they saw the first time they came to the tailor’s. This is where Mr. Lannister got that recorder for Rickon--or, to be more accurate, where he sent Christopher to get the recorder for Rickon. She feared that the children, as soon as they stepped inside the shop, would start demanding recorders as well to practice and learn new songs too, and that dragging them all away from the shop would be an uphill battle, but no such demands raise. Instead, they ask her about the different types of guitars on display, and about the multitudinous of bands and records filling every available space of the shop. 

Brienne does her best to tell them about the different types of guitars, guitar strings, guitar bridges, and so on, but soon enough they move on to other things. They split up and take the headphones available to check out varying bands and styles of music. However, they don’t exactly leave the shop empty-handed: against all odds, they end up buying something for their Father. 

Next, they stop at Jorah’s bakery, just because. Since there aren’t that many customers, the owner can spare a few minutes with them after delivering their drinks and muffins, and he points out the buzzing excitement he can see pouring from everyone. 

“We’re holding a ball tonight at our Manor!” Rickon announces. 

“It’ll be our first time at a ball for most of us,” Arya explains. 

“We just come from our dress-fitting session,” Sansa informs, blushing a bit. 

“Oh, that’s very nice, then,” approves Jorah, smiling fondly at all the kids. “I think I heard something in the press, actually, now that you mention it.” 

“There’ll be press?” shrieks Robb, more alert than ever before. 

“I’m sure your Father’s got it all under control,” Brienne reassures him. One thing she knows for certain about Mr. Lannister is that he knows how to protect his children and to keep them away from the public eye--has been doing so since they were little. She’s certain that, no matter the high standards of tonight’s ball, the children will not suffer any unnecessary nor uncomfortable scrutiny from the press. 

“Everyone will be there!” adds Gendry. “Would you like to come, Mr. Mormont?” 

“Kids, I think the guest list was set weeks ago,” Brienne interjects, grabbing Gendry by the arm to force him to sit down properly. “You should ask your Father about inviting anyone else. No offense, Jorah.” 

“None taken,” laughs the man. “I’m afraid I already have plans for tonight, otherwise I’d accept the invitation, thank you very much.”

“It’s a pity,” sighs Sansa. 

“Maybe next time?” suggests Jon, nothing more than a customary suggestion, for everyone knows Jorah wouldn’t be Mr. Lannister’s first choice when, or if, another ball is held any time soon. 

“We’ll see,” Jorah says before Brienne tries to apologize again. “For the moment, just enjoy the night, and come back in a couple of days to tell me all about it.” 

“Will do!” the seven children promise. 

As they start gobbling down their orders, Brienne realizes that all the children are, in fact, looking forward to the ball--she’s the only one at the table who dreads tonight’s upcoming event with horror. If she wasn’t forced to attend because of the children, no one would see her tonight at the Manor. It’s a pity that Renly and Lorcas, who did receive an invitation per being neighbors to the Lannisters, won’t be able to attend. She might come to enjoy the party knowing at least two of the guests. 

They return to the Mansion fairly early, so the kids have time to shower and change. They meet their Father for the first time all day long at the entrance hall, who meets them just to make sure their suits and dresses were ready and fit them appropriately, before he returned to his study. Left alone, Brienne secludes herself into her chambers and takes her guitar to calm her nerves, lying on the bed, almost wishing she did have magical powers to get through the ball unscathed. 

“I swear to the Seven, there’ll be like two thousand people,” scowls Brienne, a couple of hours later, looking out of the window with fright. She’s close to jumping out. Cars have been pulling up for the past ten minutes and, according to Sansa's estimates, it'll be a long wait till all the guests arrive. As far as she could see, all the men wear black suits and ties, and the women's dresses are close to spectacular. She'll dull in comparison, as usual, and whatever she wears it'll do nothing for her figure or to make her look more petite and feminine--quite the opposite, in fact, if she attempted to wear an open-shoulder dress.

“You need to send me pictures,” begs Margaery. 

“I’ll state right here and now that I will _not_ do such a thing.” 

“Come on, don’t be like that! Everyone who is someone will be there!” 

“And then they’re going to see me. What a disappointment.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. I would just love to record the event! You need to send me pictures!” 

“Oh, please, Margaery. I’ll be hiding most of the evening, I won’t have the time to become your personal paparazzi. I’m still in two minds about attending at all.” 

“Please!” she scoffs. “Jaime freaking Lannister throws a ball at his Mansion, where you’re currently living, inviting the highest members of current Salzburg society, and you’re actually considering not going?” 

“You should be here,” sighs Brienne. “You’d have a blast.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t check the mail today, but I’m sure I didn’t receive any invitation. But yeah, I should be there and show proper excitement.” 

“Well, I suppose I should go downstairs and make an appearance.”

“Brinny, you’re going to a party, not a funeral! Bright up! You’ll knock them dead!”

“Right,” she scowls. There’s a reason why she stopped attending parties at a very young age. Well, that and the fact that she never received a formal invitation.

Unfortunately, she’s kind of forced to attend this one, though. Like Margaery pointed out, she’s living in the same Mansion where the ball is held and also, she’s in charge of taking care of the host’s children. Yeah, there’s no sitting this one out. 

“What are you going to wear?” asks Margaery, unable to hang up for her life. 

“Gods know,” scowls Brienne, checking her dresses once more. 

“Why didn’t you buy a new dress? You knew about the ball weeks in advance!” 

“Whatever I had bought with my budget would never have met the Lannister standards, believe me,” replies Brienne. “So I decided to make do with what I already have.” 

“Well, fine, don’t tell me. Just one more thing: try to seduce some bachelor heir to a fortune, while you’re at it!”

“Don’t be daft,” scowls Brienne.

“Come on, you’d be settled for life! A Baron or a duke--”

“Goodnight, Margaery. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She hangs up and faces the mirror on the side of the room. The more she stares at her reflection the more certain she is she’s going to embarrass herself, Jaime and the whole Lannister family in front of the entire Salzburg high-born society. For the millionth time, she ponders if she should just fake she’s ill or something--just this once. But it’ll be worse in the morning, and she’s here to do a job, so she just curses under her breath and leaves her room. 

Turning left, she’s still got a few minutes before she has to make an appearance, for she has to get the children first. Her feet moving at the rhythm of the music playing downstairs, she admits she’s aching to dance. If she was completely by herself on this ball, she’d dance until dawn. Then again, the band isn’t paid to play for her alone, and she has no dance partners.

Putting those thoughts aside, she knocks on the children’s bedroom. Jon answers two seconds after and right away Brienne knows her joining them it’s a big, cruel mistake.

“Are you ready?” she asks, trying not to sound too appalled at the prospect of the party.

“Yeah,” nods Jon. He opens the double doors and lets all his siblings come out. . . Well, no, only six of them step outside.

“Where’s Sansa?” she demands.

“Oh, she’s going to need like two more hours,” scowls Arya with a roll of eyes. “She’s been asking for you, though.”

“Okay. Will you be safe and sound by yourselves for a while or d’you want to wait for us?”

“Well, we would like to attend the party someday,” jokes Robb. 

“Fine! I’ll see you downstairs in a minute,” she accepts, laughing as well. “Please don’t break anything in the meantime and keep an eye on Arya, if at all possible.”

“We’ll try,” is Robb’s best compromise, considering it’s Arya they’re talking about. Brienne takes it and steps into the room while the six children head downstairs.

“Sansa?”

“Fräulein? Come here, please!”

Following the voice, Brienne steps into the adjacent bathroom. Sansa looks beautiful the way she is, an elegant white dress with a yellow lace on the waist and equally yellow flounces. She’s still seated in front of the mirror of a dressing table and turns upon her arrival a few make-up products laying in front of her. 

_Oh, Gods. _Brienne knows nothing of make-up. If Sansa wanted help with those, they’re going to have a big problem. Perhaps Baroness Cersei would be a better help than Brienne--heck, Jaime would be a better help than Brienne.

“Come on, you’re missing the party, young lady,” she says, knocking on the bathroom threshold.

“Just a minute,” Sansa replies, standing. She runs to her, grabs Brienne’s hand and takes her to the seat, forcing her to sit down on the dressing table. She then points at the products laying around. “May I?”

Brienne looks up at her with imploring eyes. Over the years Margaery has tried to help her out whenever they partied with some make-up, but it never worked to hide her features. Sansa looks so excited to give her a hand that she surrenders, even knowing what the results will be.

“Do your best,” she accepts.

It takes Sansa all of five minutes to give up. Although, when Brienne turns around to face the mirror, she is quite impressed with her work. Sansa’s managed to soften her prominent cheekbones--one of her worst traits, she’s been told--and make her eyes--one of her best traits--stand out. Well, this is as good as it’s going to get.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at Sansa’s reflection, who beams at the praise. 

“Not done yet!” Sansa yells. She pushes Brienne back on the bench with a bit too much energy and runs off to get something else from a drawer. Brienne gasps upon seeing the diamond necklaces and earrings she presents her with. 

“Where did you get these?” shrieks Brienne. She's never seen Sansa wear any of these.

“They’re mine.”

Brienne needs only three seconds to translate that sentence. “You mean--they were your Mother’s.”

“Well, she left them for me,” insists Sansa. “Arya’s not going to wear them.”

“No, she isn’t,” confirms Brienne with a chuckle. “But I’m not going to wear these either, Sansa. I simply couldn't.”

“Come on, Fräulein! Just these?” insists Sansa, showing her a pair of quite discreet earrings, small and with a single white pearl. Against all better instincts, Brienne accepts, taking the earring with shaky hands. If it’s going to make her look any more presentable for this goddamn gala. . .

With that, they head for the party. Sansa, a bit too excited for this ball for Brienne’s taste, leans on her arm on their way downstairs, supposedly for support, but Brienne knows she’s doing it to encourage her, not the other way around. The guests are still arriving, filling the rooms, the rattle of conversations raising to the second floor. Maybe it is going to be a thousand people after all. 

By the front entrance, all the guests waiting to be welcomed by Jaime and the Baroness bow their heads at their arrival--well, at Sansa, really. She beams at the treatment and heads over to greet her Father and the Baroness formally. Brienne follows a couple of steps behind her, utterly speechless. Both Jaime and the Baroness are dressed impeccably and, just as she’d assumed would happen, she not only dulls in comparison, her dress is just one step away from being atrocious and out of place. She sees the truth in Jaime’s eye, although gentlemanliness forbids him from mentioning anything aloud. Instead, he greets her with a bow of his head and kicking his heels on the floor. 

“Enjoy the evening, Miss Tarth,” he says. 

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister,” she manages to utter, breaking eye contact. 

Worst part over now--or so Brienne surely hopes--she can start looking for someplace to hide. Brienne follows Sansa into the other room and forces her to retreat to a corner, just to be out of sight of Jaime and the Baroness and a quarter of the guests. This is going to be a nightmare.

“Look at this,” says Sansa by her side, “it’s exciting, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Brienne agrees, figuring a negative answer would only land her in trouble. She finally opens her eyes and realizes in horror that Sansa has snatched a flute of champagne from somewhere. She takes it from her hands before her lips ever taste the beverage. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re still a minor!” 

“Oh, please, Fräulein!” 

“Not going to happen,” forbids Brienne, surrendering the flute to a passerby steward. 

The implementation of the Dry Law makes Sansa groan and roll her eyes at her, but thankfully, it’s a magical night for her tonight, so very few things could bring her down right now. As soon as she takes another look around the crowded ballroom, her eyes light up, her smile broadens. She spends the next few minutes pointing at various guests and telling Brienne their names and titles she’ll be unable to remember. 

“You look wonderful, honey,” Brienne says, feeling truly content for the first time this evening--how could she not, what with Sansa beaming as she is. Brienne cups Sansa’s chin, checking her hair, the satin bow tying her hair. “Let me know when Ramsay gets here.”

“Of course.” 

“In case I was too subtle, I meant that I want you to introduce me,” Brienne insists, sterner voice now. With all their talks about the boy in the evenings, she really is keen to meet him and make sure there’s no reason to worry. 

“All right, Fräulein.” 

“Should we search for your siblings?” suggests Brienne, both to change the subject for Sansa’s sake and to soothe her nerves. They've spent too much time without seeing or hearing from them.

“Probably wise,” nods Sansa, looking around the room. 

She takes Brienne’s arm to drag her across the ballroom, a feat that almost takes them full five minutes, as Sansa stops time and time again to gaze, marveled, at the dancing partners, and to greet some of the guests. Brienne herself is itching to dance, but she assumes she’ll spend the night without making it to the dance floor. And that’s okay. 

After searching everywhere inside the mansion, they step outside to check the gardens and, sure enough, there they are. On the courtyard, close enough to hear the music and watch the dancers, but without actually taking part in the ball. Apart from gossiping, that is--Brienne arrives just in time to hear them discuss the dresses, the music, the dancing partners. 

“The women look so beautiful,” says Gendry right then. 

“I think they look ugly,” scowls Jon. 

“You’re just scared of them!” Arya accuses his sibling. 

“Silly, only grown-up men fear women,” complains Jon. 

“I think the men look beautiful,” is Rickon’s input. 

“And how would you know?” demands Arya. The little boy just keeps the secret to himself and chooses to remain silent. By then, Brienne joins their little group, thinking how funny it is to feel more comfortable amongst children than grown-ups during a ball. On second thought, these children like her and have learned to overlook her physical appearance; she couldn’t expect the same courtesy from all the important people in there, dressed up in their impressive gowns and suits. She’s earned the right to protect herself from gossiping and mean people. 

“May I have this dance?” she hears behind her back. Sansa, in the safety of the darkness, had been practicing her dancing steps, and now Robb has popped up to sweep his sibling off her feet and asked her to dance. 

“I’d be delighted, young man,” she accepts, bowing. 

Well, they might never have had singing lessons, but Mr. Lannister certainly approved of dancing lessons, for they’re both just too natural for never having danced before. Brienne doesn’t mind confessing that she’s impressed. 

“Well, why didn’t you tell me you could dance?” she asks. 

“We feared you’d make us all dance. The Lannister Family Dancers,” jokes Gendry, performing an extremely dramatic twirl. 

Inside, the band starts playing another song, and the children turn, curious. It surprises Brienne that they wouldn’t know what a Läendler is--considering how Austrian their father is, even down to naming their horses after famous historical Austrians. 

“Will you show me?” begs Brandon. 

“Oh, I haven’t danced this since I was little,” she replies. She had no intention of dancing at all tonight. . . 

“But you remember. Please?” he begs. 

Brienne laughs, ruffling Bran’s hair. Well, it seems she will get to dance in the end. As she accepts, the other kids pair up as well: Robb and Sansa, Arya and Gendry, Rickon and Jon. They spare out around the courtyard, waiting for Brienne’s instructions. It won’t be pretty, she fears--it has really been a long time. 

“All ready? Now, the women courtesy and the men bow. Good!” she praises as everyone manages to follow her instructions--so far. “And now we go for a little walk: one, two, three. One, two, three, step together. Now turn under.” 

Teaching how to dance--to four couples, no less--is hard enough without attempting to dance said dance at the same time. Overall, she wouldn’t approve any of their dances, unfortunately, and she’s thankful for giving it a try away from all the guests, but they have a blast either way trying and failing. That’s one of the lectures she’s been able to give the children: life is not only a competition, but one needs to enjoy the view in the meantime as well. 

Before she knows it, she’s laughing at her own clumsiness as she tries to turn back to back with Bran. 

“Brandon, I’m afraid we’ll have to practice!” she laughs. 

“Do allow me, will you?” a grown-up man’s voice says. 

Brienne freezes, the laughter all but forgotten, her arms falling to the side. As she and Brandon were back to back, she never saw Jaime approaching their particular dance floor--but everyone else did, because there are no more partners in the courtyard, everyone has stepped back. As per Jaime, looking dashingly in his suit, he’s giving her a charming smile. Then, he extends his right hand, provided a white glove covering the prosthetic. 

The music compels her. _Just one dance,_ her feet say as she takes Jaime’s hand without a second thought. Just one dance to remember this night forever, just one night of indulging her cravings and be this close to Jaime for the first and last time as they waltz. 

They resume the dance with uncanny ease bearing in mind her usual lack of coordination, moving flawlessly around the courtyard, his prosthetic hand never an impediment for dancing. Brienne’s mind is completely blank, and still, all the movements come back to her easily, and she moves in Jamie’s arms flawlessly--her grace definitely is because of her unexcelled partner, no doubt about it. The arm-tying movements, the hopping with final flourishes, the dancing back to back, the turning and turning around. . . 

_And here I thought I wouldn’t get the chance to dance at all, _ she sighs, looking at the children staring at them both in awe. The band playing and the dozens of partners dancing inside, it all almost feels right. Mr. Lannister didn’t even mention her lack of skills or her inappropriate dress, he just went ahead and offered her a dance--his first dance of the night, as it turns out, for he’s been greeting all the guests. Why did she dread the ball in the first place? 

Everything else fades away. Jaime’s everywhere, his hands waiting for her after a turn, him clapping around her, his hands at her lower back as he holds her steady while turning. . . But there’s nothing else. The courtyard, the children, the guests, even the Baroness, it’s all gone. In spite of that, however, despite the intimacy and the usual proximity linked to dancing, Brienne barely dares to lock eyes at all with Jaime. Whenever she does dare look up, the man smiles shyly and Brienne blushes a bit more. Leaving her wondering if there’s a top color in the red spectrum she’s going to reach tonight. 

At some point, it just becomes unbearable. The dance, the proximity, how calm and comforted she feels in his arms, the smile growing by the second on her lips. Jaime’s eyes locked on her whenever she dares to look up at him, his shy little smile and the way he bites his lower lip now and then, as if deep in thought, or trying his best not to mess up with a so far flawless dance. Dancing with such ease and feeling so comfortable in his warm arms, so close to his face and to those lips that just seemed to greet her back home. . . Inviting her to a whole other world than just a Laendler. 

What was it that made her feel so insecure and out of place about tonight again? 

_Stop this! Stop it now!_ her brain commands. 

Halfway through the song she cannot handle anymore and gives up, freezing, one hand clasp above their heads, the other on her lower back. Jaime can feel her change of mind and freezes as well, dropping his arm, confusion in his eyes as Brienne takes a step backward. She’s barely breathing, barely thinking--forbidding her mind to go down that particular road. 

And then Arya makes it all worse when she steps in between. “Your face is all red,” she points out. If she had ill intentions consciously or not, it’s the first time in her life that the thought of assaulting a little kid crosses Brienne’s mind. Of course, it’s Arya the one to achieve that record, of all people. 

“Is it?” Brienne almost shrieks, although she was painfully aware of her shame--and Jaime was as well. She throws her hands up to her cheeks to hide her blushing. “I don’t suppose I’m used to dancing.” 

Such a stupid excuse almost gets Brienne scowling, brawling like a toddler, and kicking herself in the ass, for no one with two functioning eyes could possibly believe it. Jaime certainly doesn’t, the hint of an incredulous smile on his lips. For a moment there, Brienne wishes she could spontaneously combust, or make everyone, including her and Jaime, forget the last five minutes never happened. 

Someone else stepping out to the courtyard saves her--although not so much. 

“My, that was beautifully done,” praises Baroness Cersei. “What a lovely couple you make.” 

The enchantment broken, Jaime chuckles nervously as he uses his mouth to take off his left-hand glove--just an excuse to have something to do. 

“I believe it’s time the children said goodnight,” he says then, without looking back at Brienne, but neither at Baroness Schraeder. Reminding her--and quite honestly, himself too--of Brienne’s tasks around here, which involve only the children. Nothing and no one else. 

“Yes. Of course. Goodnight,” says Brienne in an automatic response, as if she was the one supposed to turn in for tonight. 

“But, Fräulein, what about--?” Arya starts complaining, and then all their preparations come to mind. Brienne almost wants to kick herself for all the trouble, but she’s out of luck. She cannot disappoint the children now, and she cannot vanish into thin air in the middle of the night. The children can’t be blamed for whatever happened during this dance with Jaime--whatever it is, she has a hard time understanding herself. 

“Yes. We’ll be in the hall,” she says, her voice a bit too high-pitched. “We have something special prepared, right?” 

“Right!” Brandon and Rickon agree. 

“Yes, come on!” Arya and Gendry press, running away. Within seconds they’ve vanished around the bushes, although the faster way back into the house was to cross the courtyard and the ballroom. But that supposed passing by Baroness Cersei, which Brienne was nowhere ready to do. Instead, she takes a long detour on their way to the front entrance of the mansion, Brandon dragging her by the arm, Gendry pushing her by the back, and her barely able to catch her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said before, the 'Edelweiss' and the 'Laendler' scenes are my favorites out of the whole movie, and I hope I made them justice!! 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball: part 2!!

No more guests’ cars are pulling up to the courtyard, the entrance is empty, the outside lights turned off until the end of the party, and so Brienne stops in the stillness of the night to catch her breath--because of the dance, not the running. 

Inside, the music goes on, the dancing goes on, as if nothing had happened. How is that possible? Less than ten minutes ago it all felt right for her, she was in a good place, in a good mood. . . How did she screw up so badly so fast? 

_What in the seven hells was that? _ she wonders, on the edge of panic, leaning against the cold stone wall. She shoots her hand up to her neck--to feel her erratic heartbeat or perhaps suffocate herself to death, she hasn’t decided which one will be just yet. 

The dance was wonderful, more than she’d ever dared to dream of, but that’s exactly the problem. She shouldn’t have put herself in that predicament. Not with her boss, and certainly not when that man is as good as married. Is she completely out of her mind? Her job’s already at risk as it is, she’s been this close to losing this governess position more times than she can count. . . She shouldn’t be playing with fire. There’s too much at risk. 

“Fräulein?” 

Landing back on Earth, she opens her eyes. Throughout her cavilations, she’s forgotten that the children have never left her side--what’s worse, they were witnesses to the dance, and the Gods know what they made out of it. Only then she looks back at them, assessing their needs, which is what they’re paying her for, at the end of the day. But they don’t say a word, looking up at her with unreadable faces. Brienne couldn’t even figure out the expression on Jaime’s face throughout their dance or after, and concludes that all the Lannister family members are just impossible to understand and unworthy of her time and troubles right now. 

“Okay,” she sighs, closing her eyes. This is it. One more duty and she’ll be free to turn in for the night, hide in her chambers and with any luck, forget everything that’s happened in this horrible, dreadful ball. Damn Margaery for convincing her to join this forsaken party in the first place. “Okay, so. . .”

“We’ll wait at the top of the stairs,” suggests Jon. 

“And you’ll announce us,” adds Robb--pitying Brienne, for that’s what they’d planned on. 

“Yes, perfect,” nods Brienne. 

The children leaving into the Manor give her a few seconds more to settle. She gives herself just two seconds more and then follows the children inside. 

Coming up to all the guests is harder than she’d previously imagined. She knows she’s blushing under everyone’s judgmental stares as she bets she can hear them all discussing her poor looks and disheveled appearance in contrast to the glamorous party and attendees. Brienne tries to rise above it all, and the only concession she does make is not to look for Jaime in the crowd--it’d be too painful. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she calls out. The music and conversations die out and everyone turns towards her position, but she forces the words out, “the children of Mr. Jaime Lannister wish to say good night to you.” 

At her signal, most attendees follow her into the hallway, where the children are already in position up in the stairs. Jaime, the Baroness, and Tyrion find a spot at the front line of the crowd and Brienne sees the nervousness in the kids’ faces. She nods at them in encouragement as she retreats to one side, leaving them the spotlight, and starts the recording. 

With the first few bars, the children start the choreography they’ve practiced _ad nauseam_ these past few weeks. Falling back into the movements and steps they know by heart does calm them a little, and as they take their positions in the stairs, smiles appear on all their faces.

_There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall _  
_And the bells in the steeple too. _  
_And up in the nursery, an absurd little bird _  
_Is popping up to say "coo-coo" _  
_“Coo-coo”, “Coo-coo”_  
_Regretfully they tell us, _  
_But firmly they compel us _  
_To say goodbye to you. _  
_So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, good night. _

  
  


Throughout the song, Brienne’s smile broadens, her mood improves. All those rehearsals, all that anxiety and nervousness concerning their singing in front of so many guests and without their Father’s approval, it all pays off for this five-minute song. They sing beautifully, perform their choreography perfectly. Each one of them remembers their lines and acts upon it, including Sansa, once more begging her Father to let her taste champagne and being shot down again, to the amusement of all guests. Brandon gets the last few lines: 

_ The sun has gone to bed _  
_And so must I. . .  _

Just as he lies on the stairs, pretending to fall asleep. Robb comes to pick him up and take him to their chambers. All seven children perform an encore of ‘goodbyes’ on their way to the bedroom and, just as they’d hoped for, the guests also join in for one last soft and deep ‘goodnight’ and waving farewell just as the children shut their room’s door. 

Applause and celebration burst downstairs as Brienne nods in approval and joy, even pride, as many of the guests close ranks around Mr. Lannister to praise and congratulate him on his children’s beautiful performance. Brienne knew they’d do well, but still, she needs to go meet them and congratulate them all. Also, she knows she shouldn’t leave those seven to their own devices at bedtime, much less when there’s a party going on downstairs. 

Exactly as she’d expected, tonight Brienne has a hard time convincing the children to get changed and tuck in--even little Brandon puts up a little bit of a fight, begging for a poem first, then a simple bedtime story. 

“Come now, no poetry tonight. Time to sleep,” she begs. She’s itching to get to her own room as well. Perhaps not to sleep exactly--she doesn’t believe she’ll be able to sleep at all tonight--but she’ll at least be able to text or phone Margaery and analyze what in the world has happened on the course of one night. 

After a battle that extends for almost twenty minutes, the longer they’ve ever put her through since the beginning of her service, Rickon, Arya, Gendry, Jon, Robb, they’re all in bed. However, there’s one missing and she knows exactly where to find her. Deep steps, hoping against hope not to meet Jaime or Baroness Cersei again tonight, Brienne returns to the party. 

And just in time, too: when she finds Sansa she sees she’s snatched out another flute of champagne. Showing no compassion at all, Brienne takes it from her hands. 

“But--Fräulein!” complains the girl. “I just want to taste my first champagne!” 

“Not tonight, no--have you turned eighteen while I wasn’t looking?” replies Brienne. “Do you think your Father would approve?” 

That seems to settle her--her Father wouldn’t even approve of her being out of bed this late to start with, so her chances of having this conversation are null. Although she pretends to be upset for all of two seconds before changing the subject. “He’s here, Fräulein! Ramsay!” 

“Where?” she demands immediately, looking around the room. 

Sansa pushes her to the side and has the decorum of not pointing with her finger. It is difficult to find him, especially when a lot of guests are dancing and moving around. In the end, she manages to spot him. Well, he’s got the looks, she reckons. But that’s a long way from him being a good lad and suitor for Sansa. 

After some seconds of staring, the boy seems to notice them across the room, but he stays where he is, talking with a group of men over flutes of champagne. Every few beats he keeps looking back at Sansa, though. The infatuation is obvious and thank goodness, it’s bilateral--Brienne couldn’t have helped much with a broken heart. 

“Ladies,” a man clears out his throat to their side. 

They spin in fright, expecting Jaime, but Tyrion greets them both with a mischievous smile, as if he’d been staring at them for the same amount of time they’ve been staring at Ramsay. He seems to know exactly what’s going on here, but still, he plays dumb as he stops a steward and grabs two flutes of champagne. 

“Whatever conversation you were having, it seemed awfully interesting,” he says, handing Brienne one of the flutes. She takes it out of courtesy but doesn’t drink a single drop--she hasn’t eaten anything yet and she’s enough flustered as it is. “Concerning a young Bolton, if I’m not mistaken?” 

“Oh, uncle Tyrion, please don’t tell Father.” 

“Who said anything about involving Jaime? That boring piece of my brother would take the fun out of everything,” scowls Tyrion. “The real question is--are you planning on stealing glances with the boy all night long? It is not as exceptionally funny as you’d think.” 

Taken aback, Sansa looks down, straightening her dress. 

“Well. . .”

“Got it,” interjects Tyrion, giving Brienne his second flute. “Come with me, young girl.” 

He sets off without another word, before Brienne nor Sansa understand a thing. The man only stops when he realizes Sansa hasn’t moved an inch and turns around. 

“Come!” he orders, without waiting this time. 

Given the circumstances, Brienne can only encourage Sansa with a shrug of shoulders and a raise of eyebrows, and Sansa hurries to follow her uncle. Tyrion takes her around the room, and only too late do Brienne and Sansa realize he’s leading her straight to. . . Ramsay. 

Across the room, Brienne can tell the moment Sansa realizes their destination, but she’s within hearing range from Ramsay already and could not make a polite run for it even if she wanted. Tyrion greets Ramsay and his friends with a bow, exchanges some words and then waves at Sansa to join them. So far away and with the band playing only feet from her, Brienne cannot hear a word they say, but she sees Sansa blushing and Ramsay not taking his eyes off of her as Tyrion talks about Gods know what. After a beat, Ramsay bows his head to Brienne, takes her arm and leads her to the dancing floor. 

The girl is beaming and can barely contain her happiness as they wait against the wall for the next song to start. She catches Brienne’s eye for a second and she raises one of her flutes of champagne, congratulating and encouraging her at the same time. A few minutes later, the song comes to an end, the dancers applaud and bow to the band, and then they start playing a new waltz. Ramsay leads Sansa to the center of the ballroom, right under the crystal chandelier that emphasizes Sansa’s blush and makeup, and start the dance alongside with half a dozen more partners. 

Well, the boy knows how to handle himself at a ball, but that’s about all the conclusions Brienne can extract from his dance with Sansa. It tells her nothing about his character, she sighs, following the two of them with her eyes across the room--and keeping an eye out for Jaime, too, just in case. 

Tyrion returns to her side then, his work done, a gloating smile on his proud face. Brienne gives him back his flute, hers still untouched. 

“Beautifully done,” Brienne praises, toasting their flutes. 

“Thank you,” he accepts. As the new ballad starts, they look down at the pair, who defy fate by refusing to leave the ballroom just yet, and Brienne feels as if she and Tyrion were proud parents looking over Sansa. The lad, Ramsay, certainly knows how to move, and the two, however young, make a fine addition to the ball. “And congratulations are in order for you too, I presume?” 

“Pardon me?” 

“The children,” indicates Tyrion, looking out in the hall, where they performed just a few minutes ago. “That was extraordinary. I can’t help but wonder what they would do at the Festival.” 

Brienne laughs, shaking her head. In spite of Jaime’s categorical denial about his children singing in public, Tyrion hasn’t forgotten his dream, and brings it up now and then. She fears that after the show earlier, Jaime will have even a harder time now refusing Tyrion’s insistence. They could prepare something very special, Bienne reckons, if he let them. But she’s not going to cross the line on this one. Mr. Lannister and the children have achieved so much progress as it is; push too hard, too fast, and it’s going to break the camel’s back. 

“Thank you,” she appreciates the praise nonetheless. 

“So, are you letting the youngsters be the only ones having fun?” 

“Oh, I can’t dance, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Tyrion,” he insists once more. It’s as difficult for her to call Tyrion by his first name than it was Jaime. “And you’re in a ball! You’re supposed to be dancing and having fun!” 

In spite of her complaints, he takes her flute, drops it on a spare chair and drags her amongst all the other couples, Sansa and Ramsay included. Unable to confess that she’s had her fair share of dancing tonight, Brienne allows herself a few more minutes before turning in. Anything that distracts her from her dance with Jaime and, more worrying, the damn thoughts that crossed her mind while she was in his arms. 

Dancing with Tyrion is wildly different than dancing with Jaime. It’s as easy and comfortable with the two brothers, they could compete at any professional dancing show, but Tyrion keeps making comments on the other couples, making faces and jokes, and all throughout the dance Brienne keeps on laughing. It almost feels as if Tyrion attempted to have her boisterous laughter roar above the band playing. 

“So, how is it living with my brother?” asks Tyrion in the midst of the dance. “Apart from dear Baroness Cersei and Elsa, of course, I haven’t met a single woman who could stand my brother for any amount of time.” 

“Well, I haven’t really lived with him much,” replies Brienne, carefully choosing every word that comes out of her mouth. “I’d been working here for only a week before he traveled to Vienna, and then he came back with you and Baroness Cersei.” 

“Oh, yes. My brother’s never-ending trips to Vienna. And then it came as a surprise when he realized he didn’t know his children.” 

In spite of agreeing with the statement, Brienne chooses to keep quiet as to stay out of trouble for the remaining of the song, and not risk her neck, or her job, anymore tonight. Instead, she just looks above Tyrion’s shoulder to Sansa and Ramsay, dancing some feet apart, and enjoying the ball and company as only young first-time lovers could. 

The song finished, Sansa comes to meet them, her cheeks red, but she looks as if she could start floating at any time. She hugs Tyrion and thanks him profoundly for his introducing him to Ramsay and then turns to Brienne, a thank you note on her lips too. 

“You had fun?” she asks. 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” 

“Glad to hear it. Now say goodnight before your Father realizes there’s a stray minor Lannister around here. I’ll see you upstairs in a minute.” 

Sansa leaves them and runs back to Ramsay to tell him something--Brienne doesn’t miss how she straight ahead grabs Ramsay’s hands in a very comfortable touch, despite being in full view to her uncle and governess. Alone again, Tyrion turns towards Brienne with a frown between his eyes that scares her a bit. What does he know? 

“You’re not thinking of leaving too?” 

Now it’s Brienne the one to blush. Jaime is not a subject she wishes to discuss with Tyrion of all people. As a matter of fact, there’s no one in this whole damn room she wishes to discuss Jaime with. Initially, she’d thought that maybe she could stay behind and talk with Ramsay for a bit, get to know the man, but she’s lost all interest regarding staying at the ball for a minute longer than necessary. 

“Sansa really should be in bed. I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“You won’t be in any trouble,” Tyrion promises. “But you must join us for dinner. I insist.” 

“Tyrion, please. . .” 

By the corner of her eye, Brienne catches Jaime pushing through the crowd towards their position and she curses under her breath, provided the band started another song two seconds ago. She cannot deal with the two Lannister brothers at the same time, much less with the Baroness standing there as well, magnificent in her ball gown, showing a perfect beauty Brienne could never achieve to. 

“Were you planning on not having dinner at all?” presses Tyrion. 

“I’m not sure what I was going to do for dinner, but I wasn’t going to join--” 

“Is there a problem?” asks Jaime, appearing out of nowhere. Brienne takes a look around, but it seems Sansa was smart enough to flee the ballroom as soon as she saw her Father approaching. Well, that’s one fewer headache Brienne needs to worry about. 

“No, no problem at all,” promises Brienne. 

“Jaime, you won’t let this girl get away,” insists Tyrion. “She must join the party.”

“No, really, I--” 

“Stop. Stop it now,” he forbids. “Jaime?” 

“You can if you want to, Fräulein,” nods the man. 

“You will be my dinner partner. Franz,” Tyrion calls out to the butler who, very opportunistic, was just passing by at that exact moment, “set another place next to mine for Fräulein Brienne.” 

No one moves for a second. Brienne hopes, perhaps as much as Baroness Cersei herself, that the butler raises some complaint. But he just turns towards Mr. Lannister to corroborate the order he’s just given and, against all odds, Jaime nods in confirmation. 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Lannister,” agrees the butler, bowing before leaving. 

“Well, it appears to be all arranged, doesn’t it?” settles Jaime. 

“It certainly does,” agrees Baroness Cersei. 

“I--I’m not suitably dressed.” 

“You can change,” says Jaime. “We’ll wait for you.” 

Next, he turns towards some of the guests and strikes up a conversation, leaving Brienne, Baroness Cersei or Tyrion no room for any more discussions. The former sighs deeply, scratching the back of her neck, realizing she’s got no other option but to dine with Jaime, Tyrion, Baroness Cersei, and the thousand distinguished guests invited tonight. All she wanted to do ten minutes ago was to lock herself up in her room, maybe call Margaery and perhaps have a cry about the evening’s events. What did she get herself into? 

“Come, Fräulein,” says the Baroness. “Let’s find you something more appropriate to wear.” 

The sudden kindness from Baroness Cersei, who up until now hasn’t given Brienne the time of day, surprises Brienne a little, but right now she’ll take whatever help she can get. There’s nothing in her wardrobe that’ll meet the Lannister standards, even with Sansa’s jewelry and her make-up, she knows that. 

On their way upstairs, bits of conversation reach Brienne’s ears, and she stops for a second to peer over the railings. She immediately spots Jaime down at the hall, Tyrion by his side, some guests surrounding the two Lannister brothers. Jaime’s got his lips pursed, clearly holding back, which he isn’t that used to doing, his left hand curled in a ball. 

“Herr Zeller, we sent your boss an invitation out of respect for our shared interests, but this is still my home, and you will respect my family and my children,” he says then, in that formal and cold voice he used to address Brienne with. The memory brings goosebumps up her arms, knowing that if he’s using that tone, things must be bad. 

“The ostrich hides his head in the sand,” the guest, Herr Zeller, responds, “and, sometimes, in the voices of one’s children. Perhaps those who would warn you that a Lannister-Targaryen merger is coming, and it is coming, Mr. Lannister, would get farther with you by setting their words to music.” 

“If the Targaryen girl does take over the Lannister Empire, Herr Zeller, I’m sure you’ll be the entire trumpet section,” scowls Jaime, spinning around to put a final end to the conversation. 

“You flatter me, Mr. Lannister,” says Her Zeller, making Jaime stop and spin around, shock in his eyes, and yet the smallest of smiles on his lips. Brienne’s seen that expression before, on that first night in the Mansion, when dinner went array on so many levels Jaime was completely appalled and offended. 

“How clumsy of me,” chuckles Jaime. “I meant to insult you.” 

With that, he does leave the hall and enters the ballroom, not allowing Her Zeller to put in another word. Brienne also realizes she’s been eavesdropping on an uncomfortable conversation, so she apologizes to the Baroness and they keep climbing up the stairs. 

_Are things so badly with his business?_ she ponders quietly. If so, she can understand Mr. Lannister a little better now. On top of him losing his hand, losing his wife, not being able to connect, bond or share a thing with his children, and them misbehaving to the point where he couldn’t keep a governess for more than a month. . . If the Lannister Empire is going down, there’s no wonder he’s always so busy with work, so concerned, and invests so much time towards his company. He wishes to provide for his children, that much is obvious to any bystander, and to leave them an Empire they can build bigger and stronger. 

It is any parent’s dream for their children to think big, to thrive, to aim and achieve greatness, and most of all, to surpass their parents’ successes. That’s what she wishes she could give to Podrick, after all, even though his chances of inheriting an Empire are very slim. But if that’s not a possibility for Mr. Lannister and his children any longer, the man’s whole career will be for nothing. It can’t be a pleasant prospect for anyone, really. 

She needs to forget all about Mr. Lannister’s struggles and his children’s future, however, at least for now. She could talk to him in the morning, when they meet for their coffee on the terrace, although perhaps it won’t be such an early meeting as usual. Of course, he could tell her that his work is none of her business, and she’ll accept the answer respectfully. But maybe, her knowing the truth could help Jaime. She could maybe prepare the children, talk to them on their Father’s behalf, make them understand, and ease Jaime’s worries for whenever he does need to break the news to his children. 

Stepping into her room with the Baroness makes her more nervous still--Cersei’s mere presence here transforms the perfectly simple and nice room into a lesser than a rabbit’s hole, just as it felt that first night where Mr. Lannister barged in. However, Brienne tries her best to put up a brave façade and be nice. They’re all making lots of efforts around here tonight. 

“It’s very kind of you to offer to help me, Baroness.”

“I’m delighted, Fräulein.” 

“I really don’t think I have anything that would be appropriate,” confesses Brienne. If fairy godmothers existed, her wardrobe would have suffered a complete transformation while they were downstairs, showing beautiful dresses on the hangers befitting the ball, but no, there’s only the same dresses she’s always had. Dull, simple, cheap. Why couldn’t Jaime refuse his brother’s invitation and denied her a seat at the table? After all, how she behaves and acts in public reflects on Mr. Lannister, just as much as his children’s actions. 

“Now, where is that lovely little thing you were wearing the other evening? When the captain couldn’t keep his eyes off you. . .” 

At that, Brienne freezes. She was unzipping the back of her dress already, in order to save time, even if it was a few seconds, before they started a discussion on Brienne’s very limited and very poor options. The sleeves half-hanging from her arms, she exhales and inhales deeply to avoid, just for once in her life, the colors rushing to her cheeks. 

Baroness Cersei has taken out that blue dress and lays it on the bed. Brienne knew which one she was talking about before her eyes fall upon the one specific dress. The one she wore on the performance of ‘The Lonely Goatherd’ the other day, and during her performance with Jaime singing ‘Edelweiss’. She thought she’d imagined things that afternoon, such as the way Jaime looked at her and smiled at her and blushed throughout the whole song, but two women can’t be wrong about this sort of thing. . . Right? 

“Couldn’t keep his eyes off me?” she repeats in a whisper. If Baroness Cersei realized it too, it wasn’t her imagination only, and it wasn’t, either, her love-starving heart. And then perhaps Jaime is aware as well. . . 

“Come, my dear, we are women,” replies the Baroness. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know when a man notices us.” 

“Mr. Lannister notices everybody,” Brienne tries to escape the subject. 

“There’s no need to feel so defensive, Fräulein. You are quite attractive, you know. Jaime would hardly be a man if he didn’t notice you.” Unknowingly, Baroness Cersei’s words hurt Brienne more than anything else she could have done or said. No man--or woman--with two functioning eyes would ever call her attractive. 

“Baroness, I hope you’re joking,” whispers Brienne. 

“Not at all,” she replies. 

“I’ve never done a thing to--” 

“You don’t have to, my dear. Nothing’s more irresistible to a man than a woman who’s in love with him.” 

“In love with him?” shrieks Brienne, unable to control her voice. 

“Of course. What makes it so nice is he thinks he’s in love with you.” 

“But that’s not true,” complains Brienne, trying to convince. . . Who, exactly? Baroness Cersei seems convinced enough of her feelings. 

“Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks into your eyes,” she replies. “And you know, you blushed in his arms when you were dancing just now.” 

_Love?_ For goodness sake, Baroness Cersei must be out of her mind, or she’s drunk too much of that champagne. A stupid fling, sure. An infatuation, maybe. A horrible cliché, even: the nanny and the boss--how many stories has she heard or watched with that same plot that ended horribly wrong? But. . . _Love?_ It couldn't be love. No. Categorically. No. Impossible. She’s never been in love and she’s got nothing to compare it to, but. . . This aching in her stomach every time Jaime looks at her directly? Her jumping out of her skin whenever Jaime catches her by surprise? And then. . . The dance earlier. . . 

“Don’t take it to heart. He’ll get over it soon enough, I think. Men do, you know,” the Baroness says, albeit Brienne cannot tell if Baroness Schraeder is trying to comfort her at all. 

Throughout her cavilations, Baroness Cersei has remained there, letting Brienne wonder, ponder, suffer and, yes, go red as a tomato. Even if it’s love--even if it _isn’t_ love--Jaime’s feelings aren’t reciprocated. The woman he’s in love with and he’s intent to marry is Baroness Cersei, not a commoner governess like her, and her staying here any minute longer only complicates things for the poor man. He’s had a difficult life already as it is, he struggles with his work, his family, and his love life. She’s in no position to give him yet more troubles. If she’s helped him and the children at all the time she’s spent here, that’s where she should leave. The _Mary Poppins_ project of her life is finished, and if the wind has changed now, it’s time for her to pick up her talking umbrella and set off flying. 

“Then I should go. I mustn’t stay here,” she decides. 

She picks up her suitcase, takes off her dress at last and throws it inside. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” the Baroness asks. 

“No. Nothing,” replies Brienne, without even looking at her. Perhaps Baroness Cersei is nicer than she’s given her credit for. With any luck, she will be able to set the record straight, help Jaime see clearly, help the children, and be a good mother for them. How difficult can that be? 

She shakes her head at that, scowling under her breath. She knows _exactly_ how difficult motherhood can be, to a single child or to seven, and Baroness Cersei will face Hell with the Lannister children. Easing the path for the Baroness is exactly Brienne’s duty. . . But she simply cannot stay there anymore, even if it’s for the interest of almost everyone involved. 

For the second time since she started working here, she’s in a hurry to pack up her things and leave this mansion. The only difference is, Mr. Lannister didn’t have to fire her this time, and he won’t be able to stop her tonight, either. It’ll be best for everybody if she doesn’t see him nor talk to him ever again. Nor the children, while she’s at it. 

“Yes,” she changes her mind before the Baroness leaves the room. “Don’t say a word to Mr. Lannister.” 

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” promises Baroness Cersei softly. “Goodbye, Fräulein. I do hope you find happiness in your old, perfectly ordinary life.”

“Thank you,” Brienne yells over her shoulder, just a beat before the bedroom door is shut. 

She stops for a second, looking around. The damn dress is still on the bed, the last item of clothing waiting to be packed. The one dress she wore the day she played ‘Edelweiss’ for Jaime and he sang so beautifully, sang to her, had eyes only for her. . . Brienne has to hide a shiver at that sweet and yet horrible memory. To push away those thoughts, she grabs the dress and throws it inside the suitcase as well. 

There’s only one thing left to do, and so she goes to the desk to find a paper, a pen, and an envelope. 

Last time Jaime tried to sack her, her only petition before leaving the mansion was to say goodbye to the children. She’s come to like them, after all--and she wouldn’t be a fool admitting that they like her too. She’s grown accustomed to their never-ending energy, to their laughter, their bickering, their pranks, their food battles at breakfast, their anger whenever they need to tackle homework, their excitement whenever she announces they’d be spending the day outside. The small gestures of affection Rickon and Brandon showed her lately: hugging her, kissing her, sometimes forgetting her title when addressing her. The kindness and maturity the older boys and Sansa have shown her throughout the past few weeks, making her feel much more than a governess and making them feel much more than simple teenagers. 

Of course, she cannot possibly write all that down. There’s not enough paper in the world, there’re no words in the dictionary to convey all she’s feeling, and, beyond all of that, she cannot, under no circumstance, be honest in the letter. It’d break her heart, the children’s hearts, maybe even Jaime, and that’s out of the question. So instead, she settles by apologizing deeply for the lack of prior notice but she’s clear that her decision of leaving is irrevocable and definite. That she appreciates the opportunity Mr. Lannister’s given her and she enjoyed the time she’s spent with the kids, but she couldn’t take it any longer, and had to return home. She hopes they’ll understand. 

Damn the Seven, she’s sobbing. Fortunately, no tears fall on the paper nor smudge the ink, so she’s overall satisfied with the results. She doesn’t bother checking what she’s written--no amount of drafts would have made this goodbye letter perfect, not in a million years--before she folds the letter, puts it on the envelope along with Sansa’s earrings and stands. 

She’s changed into that same horrible dress she wore on her first day--seems fitting to wear it again on the day she’s fleeing the Mansion--and so she takes her suitcase and guitar and descends to the first floor. Despite the humongous amount of guests that crowded the entrance barely an hour ago, the hall is casually empty right now, allowing Brienne to lay the envelope on a coffee table in a corner. With any luck, no one will notice it till morning, and she’ll be halfway back to Vienna by then already. And even if, Gods forbid, anyone finds it sooner, what’re they going to do? It won’t be the kids, so no one would go after her--not Jaime, not Tyrion, and certainly not Baroness Cersei. 

Her suitcase on one hand and the guitar on the other, she takes one look around this magnificent house, taking a brief second to reminiscence her journey here. She’s enjoyed every minute she’s spent in this house, she was only partially lying on that regard in her letter, and she hopes the children did too. She can only hope they will look back to these two months with gratitude and happiness, just as she will, and that they take from it the lessons she’s tried to give them. That they grow into the wonderful young adults she knows they can be, that they manage to bond with their Father. 

_Unfortunately, you won’t be here to see any of it_, she reminds herself. She cannot tell if the treacherous tears she’s shedding are because of Mr. Lannister or the children. It doesn’t matter, either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, I've got a few notes to make: 
> 
> 1\. I'M AS MAD ABOUT THIS AS YOU ARE. I'm just following the original storyline here and trust me, EVERY.SINGLE.TIME I watch the movie I get royally pissed off at the Baroness' manipulative schemes --albeit somehow understandable-- at Brienne's decision to leave, and the lack of courage to face Jaime and failure of communicating. I mean, it does feel somewhat out of character, considering how in previous scenes Fräulein Brienne/Maria _did_ dare facing Mr. Lannister/Captain Von Trapp. But, as difficult as this whole thing was to write, for now, I'm still sticking to the original story. 
> 
> 2\. The next chapters will deviate from the original storyline. Since Brienne isn't a nun, like Fräulein Maria was, I was tempted into giving her a different background story--and I indulged myself indeed. 
> 
> 3\. I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to write and publish during the holidays -- family stuff and so, and also I'm working most weekends -- so I apologize in advance if I do take a short hiatus before I publish chapter 17. This point also happens to be the movie's Entr'acte, actually, so it kinda works out, I guess? Wasn't planning on it, though! 
> 
> 4\. I'm seizing the chance to wish every one of you a Merry Christmas/Happy Hannukah/and its equivalent to what your beliefs are ! 
> 
> 5\. Once more, thank you for reading and for all your amazing feedback, it means a lot, and I'm sooo glad you like the story ! 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find Brienne minutes after she's left the Lannister Mansion in the middle of the ball trying to flee back to Vienna. We explore a bit of Brienne's life in Vienna here, instead of just jumping off a few days --or weeks-- after her fleeing!

**Mr. Lannister: **`what the hell, Miss Tarth? Where are you? `  
**Brienne: **`I apologize, Mr. Lannister. I had to go. Personal reasons. `  
**Mr. Lannister:**` personal reasons? `  
**Mr. Lannister: **`you think that’s a good enough excuse for you to flee in the middle of the night?! `  
**Brienne: **`I apologize. I just had to leave.`  
**Brienne: **`you don’t have to pay me for the month. `  
**Mr. Lannister: **`this isn’t about the money! `  
**Mr. Lannister:** `this is about the duties you were bound to by contract! `  
**Mr. Lannister:** `and common courtesy too! `

That was the last message she received, the last message she dared to read before she blocked Mr. Lannister’s number. She just couldn’t handle anymore, and honestly, she doesn’t care. Let the man be as angry as he wants, throw a tantrum or not pay her what she’s owed. She simply couldn’t care less, and couldn’t stand talking to him for another minute. 

A part of her mind did manage to notice the fact that Mr. Lannister has written her only forty minutes after she’d fled the manor. If he truly wanted her back, if he had any special interest in knowing what had prompted her to leave, he could have found her quite near just yet--for she’s stopped walking after a few minutes and dropped to the ground for her emotional breakdown. 

Of course, Mr. Lannister hasn’t showed up. That was the whole point of her running away, dammit. Letting the man get over her--if he could ever have any feelings towards her whatsoever--and give him time and space to set his mind straight. Baroness Cersei is the one woman he wants to marry. Brienne refuses to let herself be so stupid and naïve as to fall into such a cliché as her falling head over heels for the children’s father. No. No way. She had to leave and set the record straight. 

Behind her, the ball continues and will go on for hours still. Unfolding as if she’d never left--as if she’d never been part of the family for any periods of time whatsoever. The way it was, the way it should be, the way it needs to be again. 

Two sets of lights hit her and she scowls, raising a hand to protect her eyes. She probably should move in order to protect her physical integrity from the approaching vehicle, but can’t bring herself to do it. Could it be one last attendee to the ball...?

The car stops in the middle of the road and, without killing the engine, a door unlocks. 

“My God, Brienne!” scowls Loras. As his footsteps come closer, another door opens and a second person, presumably Renly, approaches running too, kneeling by Brienne’s side. She squints her eyes to distinguish the two figures through her tears. 

“What’s happened?” 

“Are you hurt?”

“I need to go home,” she utters somehow. 

“Why? What happened?” 

“Did they mistreat you?”

She doesn’t have answers for most of their questions, but she forces herself to shake her head at the last one. She’d never want anyone to believe that the children have been mean to her at any point. As per their Father, well. . . 

Instead of dwelling on those thoughts, she tries to wipe the tears off her eyes and cheeks and repeats time and time again her mantra: she wants--needs--to go home. 

“Not like this, you’re not.” 

“What happened?” insists Loras. 

Once more she remains quiet and, understanding her silence, the two men help her out, taking her suitcase and guitar into the car. Loras leaves them to step into the vehicle again, whereas Renly stays with Brienne, his hold tight and warm around her shoulders, dragging her forward. 

“No,” she complains when they take her to their mansion. She couldn’t truly stand spending another minute so close to the Lannister’s mansion, even if the family knows not where she currently is. She needs to get away. Tonight. Right now. 

“Come on,” Renly gently pushes her. “There are no buses this late, and you cannot take a car in your circumstances. Let’s just sleep on it. If tomorrow you still need to go to Vienna, I’ll drive you myself if need be.”

Without counterarguments, Brienne lets herself be dragged into the house. At some point, after parking the car, Loras joins them to lead her to the second floor. 

“I think you may have to pay me in the end.” 

“Please, Loras. Not now,” scowls Renly. 

Brienne doesn’t have a wager concerning their little dispute from so long ago because, after all, Loras was right without even knowing it. It _is_ heartbreak. She was Mr. Lannister’s latest infatuation and it has led her to flee his mansion in the middle of a ball gown and attempting to return home late in the evening, failing at it, and just dropping in the middle of the road for a self-pitying cry. 

Where in the world has she put herself into? She is a total mess. Who knew that a simple job of a governess meant to last the summer could bring her so many freaking headaches in less than a couple of months. 

Upstairs, they lead her to a guest bedroom. Instead of opening and rummaging her suitcase, they offer one old T-shirt for her to sleep in, and lay a bottle of water by the bedside. Then they leave her alone for good, instructing her to call for them if she needs anything throughout the night.

Actually, all that Brienne needs is to get away, but she guesses this is OK for the moment--even with staying at the neighbor’s house, too close for her taste, there’s no chance of Mr. Lannister or the children finding her here. She will leave well before Jaime wakes up for work, hours before the children wake up as well, so she’s safe. She won’t have to see them again. Won’t have to face any of them again. Lie to the children, avoid the Baroness, wonder what Mr. Lannister really meant every time they talked. No, that’s all gone now, and it’s back to her perhaps simpler life, in Vienna, with Podrick and Selwyn. 

She doesn’t even touch the bed, knowing that if she did lie down, she’d only toss around for hours before falling asleep out of exhaustion, if she gets any sleep at all. Instead, she stands by the window, arms crossed, fighting back the sobs. Renly and Loras have had the decorum of giving her a bedroom on the west wing, meaning that she won’t spend the whole night staring at the Lannister’s fence and mansion. 

If she listens hard enough, she believes she can still hear the music from the ball, though. The band’s still playing and will be playing for hours on end still. Brienne never thought she’d stay awake until the end of the ball to hear all the beautiful playlist, but then again, she didn’t predict she wouldn’t be there because she’d fled the mansion. The music fills her whole, almost makes her smile as she closes her eyes, the remnants of memory of her dance with Jaime, so fearless, so beautifully. . . 

“Stop it,” she commands herself. 

_How could you be so stupid?_ Brienne chastises herself. Falling head over heels for her boss, even with the way he mistreated her in the beginning? She knew it was only a temporary job--a romance should never have entered the equation, goddammit. She’s got a life of her own three hundred miles from here, and that occupies enough space, time, and worries, thank you very much. There is no time for Mr. Lannister in her life as it is. No time for a pointless romance. 

Somehow, exhaustion catches up with her and Brienne lies down on the bed, tears wetting her cheeks and pillow. She gets a couple of hours of sleep before Renly’s gently knocking on the door for breakfast. 

Neither Renly nor Loras asks her a thing about last night at breakfast, instead, they pretend this was a social gathering planned long ago. They offer her loads of food and Brienne does her best to pick on something, as not to come out as rude, but her stomach refuses to accept anything and she stops eating before she throws up. She can’t even drink the coffee that would keep her awake for the trip. 

Her heart skips a beat when she takes a look at the watch on the wall. Mr. Lannister will be up soon to tackle his work down at the terrace, although she reckons he won’t stick to his usual schedules after the ball last night. She doesn’t wish to risk meeting him by happenstance on his way to work, however. 

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, but I really should go home.” 

“Okay,” they accept without the fight she’d feared they’d put her through. “Renly will take you to the bus station in Salzburg.” 

“No, that’s not--” 

“I have to go to the city for work either way,” Renly interjects fondly. “I don’t mind driving you.” 

Well, maybe accepting a ride wouldn’t be so awful--and he’s offering to, after all. It would help Brienne getting the hell out of here faster. So, she nods in acceptance, eternally grateful at the two men already. 

“Give me ten minutes and we can go,” says Renly, patting her arm on his way out. 

Brienne doesn’t linger unnecessarily in the kitchen. Leaving her dish and coffee almost intact, she returns to her bedroom, makes her bed, washes her face, combs her hair. She then picks up her suitcase and goes downstairs. Renly appears only a couple minutes later and takes her suitcase on their way to the garage. 

Throughout their twenty-minute drive into the city, Renly respects Brienne’s wishes for space and time and doesn’t mention Jaime at all--doesn’t even satiate his need for gossip asking about the ball held yesterday night. He just turns on the radio to break the silence and spends the whole trip talking about his job, freeing Brienne from any obligation of speaking too. She’s not even in the mood to sing or hum along with the pop songs that come up on the radio. 

He takes her to the bus station and Brienne buys a ticket to Vienna on the bus that leaves within the hour. She tries convincing Renly that he should leave her and go to work, which would just give her the opening to crumble down and start crying again, but he insists on inviting her to a coffee. Albeit knowing her stomach will not accept any food, she stays quiet as Renly takes her, of course, to Jorah’s bakery. The owner greets them both warmly yet doesn’t try to engage in any chitchat upon seeing Brienne’s face, he just points them to any of the spare tables. 

Forty minutes later they leave the bakery, Brienne carrying in her purse a small bag with the biscuits Renly ordered for her and she couldn’t even eat. Maybe Podrick will enjoy the present. 

“Come here,” begs Renly just before Brienne was bound to say goodbye. He pulls her in for a bear hug and, after the initial shock, she responds, resting her head against Renly’s shoulder. “No man is worth your tears, Brienne.” 

Despite his words, she’s started to cry again, and Brienne doesn’t try to hide it this time. 

“You won’t tell him?” she begs when she pulls away, wiping her tears with a tissue Renly offers her. He cups her chin to make her look at him in the eye for the first time since yesterday night. 

“I’ve barely exchanged a dozen words with the man in all the years we’ve been neighbors. I think I can keep your secret for as long as you’d want me to.” 

Brienne flashes a sad smile, appreciating all of Renly and Loras’ efforts. They’ve helped her in more ways than they can imagine, and no words would truly convey those feelings. She settles for a simple ‘thank you’, however. Better than nothing. 

“Call us whenever you can,” begs Renly. “We’re going to miss you.” 

“Yeah. Me too,” nods Brienne. They both seem to know who she will miss the most, however, and Renly knows better than to point it out. Instead, he just sends her off. 

As the bus leaves the city and gets further and further away from Salzburg, from the Lannister Manor, from Jaime, the kids, the Baroness, and all the experiences Brienne’s had there the past couple of months, Brienne finally starts to calm down. Her nerves simmer down, her headache wears off, her muscles relax. She spends the three-hour trip dozing off every few minutes and letting remorse and guilt eat her alive whenever she’s conscious enough. She keeps checking the watch too, counting the hours and minutes till she gets to see Pod and her father again, hug them again, kiss them again. She’s also counting the minutes till those poor seven children realize that she’s gone and that all they’ve got left to remember her from are a few scribbled lines and some songs. 

Trying not to think of those seven children no longer in her care, she heads home. She’d hoped to make it back before Sam left, but carrying her suitcase and the guitar slows her down on her way up, and when she takes her keys--for the first time in months--she knows she’s too late. 

She bends by the waist to gently rest the suitcase and the guitar at the entrance, in case Podrick was still asleep. As she takes one look around, the familiar sounds of thousands of early mornings spent in this house overwhelm her. The smell of coffee, the sound of the TV, the kid from downstairs practicing the scales on the piano, cars honking, people leaving their apartments up and down the building to go to work, showers running. Yes, she settles, she’s definitely back home. She’s already assessing all the things that need tidying and cleaning, wondering if she should do the laundry and go shopping. . . The usual worries of running a household by herself and doing her damn best for this family. She truly doesn’t understand how she could stay away for so long. 

Her father hasn’t even realized she’s back, although she's clearly visible from his spot in the living room, in front of the TV. Brienne knocks on the wall, to no use, and then she steps between the TV and the wheelchair her father’s in. The smile that flashes on his lips when Selwyn sees his daughter melts her heart. 

“Brinny!” he shrieks, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV. He then opens his arms and Brienne accepts the hug. Oh, she’s missed this. Her father, Podrick, her home, this love. Tears burn in the corners of her eyes and she fights through the sobs. 

“What a surprise! What on Earth are you doing here? It’s not even the second Saturday of the month!”

She’s got no answers and pulls back, kneeling on the floor in front of her father, tears--she’ll just pretend and say it’s tears of joy--in her eyes. Selwyn has gotten thinner, but he looks okay overall, a healthy color on his cheeks. 

“Oh, come back here!” he demands, pulling her in once more, and she bursts out laughing. If it was possible, she wouldn’t release him in a hundred years. 

“Is Podrick still sleeping?” she asks then.

“No, he’s at Margaery’s, actually,” her father explains. 

He tries maneuvering the wheelchair across the living room to the kitchen, but there are too many obstacles, and Brienne settles him at the dining table and goes pour two cups of coffee. In the kitchen, she finds a shopping list as long as her arm and takes it, folds it in two and keeps it in her pocket. That’s going to be the first order of business. 

“Has been spending a few hours there every day. At least he’s not sutuck with me all day long and gets out of the house for a little while. He never would have left if he knew you were coming,” he promises at the blue look on Brienne's face. “In fact, I doubt he would have gotten any sleep whatsoever. You’d have found him waiting for you at the entrance, sleep-deprived but exuding happiness.” 

“I didn’t know myself I was returning,” Brienne excuses herself. “Not until last night. It was just too late, I couldn’t phone you.”

“Hold on, didn’t you have that big party yesterday?” 

One lifetime of Brienne struggling to avoid his keen eye and questions about troubles she had at school with her peers tells Selwyn that something very wrong has happened to her now. He doesn’t quite know how to engage the question. It’s been years since Brinny needed his comfort or protection. She’s always been so strong for him and the family, even in times of strife, that seeing her like this upon her sudden return is unnerving. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it. Not now. I want to see Pod,” replies Brienne, finishing her coffee. “Do you need anything?”

“Sam fixed me up before he left.” Which translates into, Sam left him in his wheelchair after his shower and breakfast so he could at least move around the house a little bit throughout the day. Brienne has never heard a complaint coming out of her father’s mouth, she’ll grant him that one. 

“Then I’ll see you later,” she bids farewell.

She kisses Selwyn on the forehead as she passes by him and heads back to the entrance, the squealing wheels trying, and failing, to follow her. She really needs to put up a fight and clear out the apartment to allow her father better mobility around the house even in his wheelchair--but it’ll have to wait. 

For now, Brienne comes out of the apartment and shuts the door. Out in the hallway, she takes just a second--it was harder than she’d expected trying to deflect the whole Jaime conversation with her father--but there are music and laughter blasting from apartment D, which makes her smile already. Wiping the tears off her eyes, she crosses the hallway and rings on the bell to apartment D. The music stops and Margaery, a broad smile on her lips and a thin layer of sweat on her face and collarbone, answers the door. 

“Brinny!” she gasps. 

A small whirlwind of running steps comes to the entrance, forcing Margaery to the side. Brienne kneels to welcome Pod into her arms, squeezing him as tight as he's squeezing her. 

“_Mom!_ You’re back!” he squeals in delight. From the corner, Olenna pops up her head at all the commotion and beams at seeing Brienne back, but the woman in question is too busy greeting Podrick to spare a single second for Olenna. 

“Yes, I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere again,” she promises, looking at Margaery. Pod's not asking any questions about her impromptu return and so she begs Margaery to do the same--at least for the time being. 

“I’ve missed you!”

“Oh, I’ve missed you too, honey,” promises Brienne, fighting back the tears. It’s the first time in Podrick’s whole life that she’s spent two months away. “There was not a single day that I didn’t think of you.” 

“I’ve missed you more! I thought of you every minute!”

“No, no, that’s not possible,” she complains in a chuckle. She finally releases the boy and checks him, just as she did a few minutes ago with her father, from head to toes. His hair is longer now, gone the haircut he got with her on the eve of Brienne leaving. He’s grown several inches and wearing a T-shirt she did not buy him. Dear Gods, how has he grown up so much in under a couple of months? He’s so skinny! 

“How’re you, honey?” 

“I’m alright now that you’re back,” he promises softly, giving her another big hug. Part of her mind does wander briefly that this is exactly what a parent should feel like when returning home after weeks apart--not the silent treatment Mr. Lannister would have received from his children on his return, and certainly not the telling off he marveled the kids with. 

“So, what were you doing here?” asks Brienne after a while. 

“We were dancing!” exclaims Pod. 

“That’s neat. Do you want to stay here with Margaery or you want to go with me? I’ve got a few errands to run,” says Brienne. 

Going shopping and taking care of the house can’t be the most exciting adventures for a ten-year-old upon his mother’s return and she could understand if Pod still wanted to spend the morning having fun with Margaery and her grandmother. To everyone’s surprise, Podrick settles he doesn’t want to be apart from Brienne all day long and that he’ll put up with anything. 

“Very well, then, should we get going?” suggests Brienne, standing at last, but keeping a tight hold to Podrick’s hand. 

“Yes!” the boy celebrates. 

“Have fun, we’ll see you later!” Margaery bids farewell from the threshold of the apartment. 

“Say goodbye, Pod,” Brienne instructs. Here in Vienna or back at Salzburg, she never stopped taking care of children. It’s what she’s good at. Albeit she prefers a thousand times more to take care of her own child than somebody else’s, even if they were as nice as the Lannister children. 

Although shopping isn’t exactly fun for a kid, Brienne has always had the uncanny ability to make and adventure of out everything. The budget never really allowed for that many trips or real adventures, so she had to make do with what they had. Her most successful tactic is making up a role-playing story. Today, they’re undercover agents on a very important mission in order to gather supplies for a very secret operation of some colleagues. This means that Podrick spends the whole walk hiding behind telephone booths, trees, and banks, communicating through make-up military gestures to make it to the grocery store. 

Brienne smiles at her son’s excitement and joy at a single role-playing game and corresponds, hiding at times, running when there’s a green light, using the same communication systems. She tried to get the Lannister children hyped for everyday tasks through the means of this same strategy and failed. They all believed to be stupid at first. After some weeks, Rickon and Bran gave it a try and seemed to enjoy it, which meant Gendry joined in too. But then Arya did as well and took it to heart, interrogating ‘suspicious’ people in the street and shops, and threatening to do Lord knows what with a spoon to the poor bystanders. After that Brienne decided that some discipline is good for the heart after all. 

Shopping done, Podrick still helps her out with placing everything in their appropriate cupboards and cabinets, and then they move onto doing the laundry and some cleaning at home. Even Selwyn, seated in his chair in a corner of the living room, is surprised at Podrick’s eagerness to never leave Brienne’s side, no matter what she’s doing. 

“Say, Mommy.” 

“What is it?” Brienne encourages him, as she loads the washing machine. 

“Why is the moon called ‘the moon’?” 

Brienne freezes, her hands full of clothes, and rests against the washing machine. Back at Salzburg none of the kids were as curious as Podrick, or at least they didn’t show it, and she’d almost forgotten about Podrick’s incessant questions about everything known in the universe. Oh, she’s missed them all so much, too. 

“Well, many years ago, a bunch of people decided to call it that. Don’t know why they decided the name, though,” she explains. “We can look it up later.” 

“Were you one of the people who decided the moon’s name?” 

She chuckles as she settles the washing machine’s program--children’s understanding of time can be vey subjective. 

“No, I wasn’t. That happened a long, long time ago. Before grandpa was born, too, so he had no saying in naming the moon, either.” 

“That’s a pity.” 

“Yes, it truly was,” nods Brienne. 

Since Margaery invites them over to lunch in order to properly welcome Brienne back home, Brienne and Podrick use the remaining half an hour to go to the park and play football--a reward for all the hard work he pulled in in the morning. 

This translates into the fact that as soon as his hunger is satiated, Podrick falls asleep on his chair. With the woman’s blessing, Brienne takes him to Margaery’s bedroom, where he'll be more comfortable, and when she returns to the dining table she realizes, with dread and fear, that it is time for her interrogation. The conversation has fallen quiet while she was away, and she can see the worried looks all three dinner guests address her. 

Deciding not to make it any easier for them by engaging the conversation herself, Brienne sits back on her seat and pours herself another glass of wine, drinking half its contents, although her limit is usually three drinks. 

“Will you now tell us what happened?” asks Selwyn. 

“Yesterday all I knew was that you had this grand and glorious party, and now you’re back? Did they send you back because of your horrible dress and dancing skills?”

“They didn’t send me back,” scowls Brienne. “I left. I simply couldn’t stay any longer.”

“Brinny, did you discuss it with Mr. Lannister? You were hired to do a job, and leaving him in the middle of the night without warning just seems. . .” 

“There was nothing to discuss with Mr. Lannister,” interjects Brienne. Her heart has skipped a beat when her father said she'd left him, but there's no way she can explain that one without revealing the true nature of her fleeing into the night. “They won’t miss me at all, so don’t worry.” 

“Still, finding a governess isn’t that easy, especially in such a short timeframe, honey. He won’t be able to find a replacement overnight.” 

“Dad! Margaery! Please, stop it,” she begs. “I’m here now, I’m not going back to the Lannisters, and that’s the end of it! All I care about right now is finding a job as soon as possible to pay our bills, alright? If you want to help, help me do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone ! Will publish a second chapter by the end of the week :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne struggles with her life back in Salzburg with her father and Podrick, leaving her even more confused about her situation.

“Thank you so much for your time. I look forward to hearing from you soon,” Brienne bids farewell. She collects her bag and folder with all her resumés and finds her way out, holding the smile until she’s safely hidden behind the elevator doors. 

She leans against the mirrored wall, clutching onto the folder against her chest. She's always hated this. She's always hated this process, with every fiber of her being. Looking for jobs that pay a ridiculous amount for an ungodly amount of weekly hours. Hated doing interviews, hated the disgusted and pitying look she gets from the interviewers, hated the knowledge that because of her looks, her chances of being selected for any job to the public are slim. She tries hard, of course, what other choice does she have, and sends out as many resumés as possible, answers every call and attends every interview they offer. Her father and Podrick depend on her. 

Thank the Gods, that was her last interview for today--her next one is tomorrow morning at ten, which gives her almost twenty hours to relax and try not to get anxious about it. 

Now that she’s free from her duties, she decides to stop for a short break, only a pit stop, down at the park. She feels sorry for not bringing Podrick with her, for he could have stayed half an hour there in the park instead of staying at home with his grandfather. Brienne, however, stopped bringing Podrick around the last time she was out of a job and the boy said if he could give a hand out working as well. She made him promise never to say that again until he was sixteen at the very least-- the last thing she needs is a visit from Social Services doubting her capabilities as a mother. She’s doing the best she can and knows that sometimes, her best is still not good enough. 

With that, she returns home, a simply twenty minutes walk. Her heart breaks upon seeing Podrick and Selwyn trying to kill time with jigsaw puzzles, somehow. It’s summer holidays, for Pete’s sake, she should be doing better. As a matter of fact, she’s grief-stricken that she’s also going to break another promise she made Podrick: she vowed that by working in Salzburg all summer long, she’d be able to earn enough money for a small trip just her and Podrick before school began again. It seems she won’t be able to afford any trips at all, unfortunately. Right then and there, Brienne makes the decision to spend the afternoon in the park. They can oftentimes settle in this particular spot down the shades of the trees, for Selwyn to rest, and Podrick can run wild around the park. 

Of course, going downstairs means that Podrick carries Selwyn’s wheelchair as Brienne helps her father down the three flights of stairs to ground house, and then another trip for Brienne’s guitar, a football, and a bottle of water, just to make sure they don’t need to return home any time soon. 

Their favorite spot is occupied, unfortunately, but they still find a bench to sit on. Selwyn catches his breath for a few minutes while Brienne follows Podrick around, and then he stays on the swings and obstacle courses by himself for a little while longer. He returns to his mother’s side, however, as soon as he sees her grabbing her guitar, and settles on the bench. 

They spend almost an hour playing and singing a number of songs. Some children and family also stop by whenever they sing a well-known popular song and join in quietly before going their own way, so for the most part, it’s just the three of them in their little corner. 

Brienne has a hard time focusing on the songs today, to be honest. Her mind wanders time and time again to those blessed children, to all the singing and music lessons she gave them, to the wonderful performances and plays they did for her and for their father. Music brought them the same joy it brings her little family, and she’s so incredibly proud and happy that they got to see that funnier side of life--and also, that their Father was capable of joining in, too. She just hopes they weren’t too devastated by her sudden departure. After almost two weeks, she’s certain they’re all over her disappearance, from the kids to Mr. Lannister, and the man might have hired another governess already even, so she holds onto that beacon of hope that she didn’t mess up their lives too much after the disastrous experiences their Father committed time and time again, whenever he left. 

And so, she’s back to Vienna, with her son and father, with Margaery. They needn’t such a lesson on music and the joys of life, and Brienne just needs to find happiness in the little things again, such as spending a whole afternoon outside singing with her family. Podrick gives her guitar a try, with Selwyn’s help trying to learn about chords and how to position his fingers on the strings, but the instrument is just too big for him just yet. Had they had the money, Brienne would have bought him a guitar years ago, but he had to settle with a recorder for school. 

When they return home, Brienne sends Podrick to the shower and she sits in front of the computer to look for any other job offer she might have missed today. She puts an end to the search when Samwell rings the bell--out of courtesy, for he’s had a key for months now--and she needs to prepare dinner for everyone. Afterwards they all play for a bit until it’s time to put Podrick to sleep. 

“Mommy, am I a grown-up?” 

“No, not yet, honey,” she laughs. 

“But you’re always telling me I’m a big boy.” 

“Well, you’re ten, that’s one hell of a big number, don’t you think?” 

“So. . . What will my last day of childhood be like? How was yours?” 

Knelt on the ground, Brienne ponders for a second for in the world can she tell him now. She normally doesn’t mind her son’s curiosity, they say it’s a very good sign, but sometimes he puts her in the spot by not knowing what in the world she can tell him. 

“I. . . It doesn’t happen overnight, I don’t think. You don’t go to sleep one day as a child and wake up in the morning and decide you’re an adult.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No,” Brienne chuckles, caressing Podrick’s hair. “No, you don’t really notice. The day you think something like ‘Yes, I’ve made it to adulthood’ comes when you have a kid who won’t go to sleep.” 

At that, Podrick laughs, knowing it was a pun directed at him. Brienne kisses his forehead, but she knows she couldn’t leave yet, not without reading him for a bit. Of course, which means Brienne can and does employ all her common theatrics to make Podrick laugh and enjoy the reading more, theatrics that the Lannister children didn’t appreciate at first. She only gets through a couple of pages before he dozes off. 

She takes her computer outside of the room and pours herself a single glass of wine. The laptop whirs as she turns it on and takes a sip of the cheap wine to embrace herself for the wait until the device decides if it will work tonight or not. In the meantime, she can’t help but checking her phone again. Apart from the several phone calls she’s received to decline her resumé or offer her a job interview, there’s this one constant phone call she gets every day, early in the morning, as she leaves for her jogging. 

As she waits, Sammy comes out of Selwyn’s room and pours himself a glass of water from the kitchen, sitting on the dining table in front of Brienne--there aren’t that many spare chairs as it is. Surprise visit or not, they’ve got a conversation long overdue. 

“No changes?” Brienne spares him delivering the worse news. He takes a sip of his water and avoids her eyes for exactly five seconds. 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean bad news,” Sam reminds her. 

“It’s not good news either,” she says, plain and simple. 

“He might surprise us yet.” 

“Yeah, he tends to do that,” Brienne sighs, pouring herself another glass of wine. 

“Your father’s condition is severe, Brienne. He’s very strong, stronger than many people our age, and has survived a couple operations that were a lost cause to start with. But any person has their limits.” 

“I understand,” nods Brienne, drinking a bit more of wine to swallow the knot in her throat.

Ever since she was little she remembers her father taking medications in breakfast, lunch, and dinner. On her sixth birthday, he gave her a trip to the hospital in an ambulance for a present. It took her years to make her father confess he had a heart condition and that he simply couldn’t do everything other parents could do with their daughters. If they went out to play at the park in the mornings, that meant no other funny outdoors activities in the afternoons. If it was cleaning the house day or shopping day, Brienne soon understood she had to help her father out and then let him rest for the afternoon. 

In the midst of it all, she somehow found her way to college to study Psychology. But then her father had an aneurysm which required full attention to recover and, well. . . Long story short, Brienne didn’t even finish the second year of college. There was also Podrick to take care of, after all--she couldn’t spend so much time away from home and focus on her studies. She doesn’t regret the decisions she had to make. And if she got a second chance, she probably wouldn’t change a thing. She loves being exactly where she is right now, loves what she’s got. She didn’t miss, nor needed, a man in her life--Mr. Lannister was not something she was looking for, nor someone she needed. Romance, love, and heartbreak were supposed to be out of the equation, and they are, now. 

After dropping out of college, Brienne spent her time at home and working her ass off for her father and Podrick. She somehow managed to find Samwell Tarly to take care of Selwyn during the night when she had night shifts and worked thirteen hours a day in several jobs. Walking tired Selwyn out and at some point, he stopped leaving the house, although performing stretching exercises Brienne and Samwell, and sometimes even Podrick, walked him through. His last operation was two years ago and since then he’s barely even left the house, except for when she takes him out. 

“I’m sorry,” Samwell whispers. 

“It’s okay. Thank you for everything,” says Brienne. 

Without nothing left to say--he's long learned Brienne doesn’t need fake, white promises or reassuring stupid words--Samwell finishes his water, returns the glass to the kitchen and goes back to Selwyn’s room. 

Through her tears, Brienne turns to the Internet and job hunting. Even with it being the one thing in the world she hates the most, it proves to be a good distraction so late at night, in the darkness of the apartment, to overcome her deepest worries. She can do little concerning her father’s illness, except provide him with the best care she can possibly afford, and that’s her imminent and most important goal right now. She took many jobs she hated for her father and son, and just like what happened in Salzburg, she put through a lot of bullshit just to get a paycheck at the end of the month. 

The past couple of weeks have been enough for Brienne to fall back into her routine. She wakes up early in the morning to leave for her jogging session before Sammy’s watch ends. Per usual she catches her phone vibrating with an incoming call and per usual, she dismisses Mr. Lannister. Almost as if it all was a routine already: wake up, brush her teeth, change, comb her hair, have breakfast, ignore the cellphone, go out for her jog, bid Samwell farewell, shower. She knows she should probably answer his calls. After all, she did receive her full paycheck this month, even though she left without giving the fifteen-day notice, and should thank him for that gesture. But even that appreciative phone call would be too much. Maybe he’s pissed off and will demand she gives back the extra money she did not earn or deserve--money that’s already gone with her bills and Selwyn’s medical needs. Maybe he’ll demand a proper answer for her sudden departure at the ball. Brienne knows for a fact that anything the man wants to discuss with her, she’s not ready for it yet. 

Mr. Lannister doesn’t seem ready to let her go, but has quietly accepted her refusal, which was a relief for Brienne, for she knows she couldn’t be able to face the man if he was as persistent a man as she knows he can be. Apart from calling her every morning, as her phone call log would prove, he hasn’t texted her anymore, hasn’t tried to contact her at home or by email, even though he could do either one of those options, since they finalized the terms of her contract by email, after all. He’s not that interested in talking to her. Or maybe he doesn’t want to look that desperate to hire her back--or maybe that’s just wishful thinking from her part. 

But then again, today, it’s not Mr. Lannister calling. As she checks her phone before sitting in front of the computer again to send out more resumés that won’t be read by anyone, she sees a blocked number on the screen and hurries to pick it up. And then, a bunch of yells deafens her--the kids talking everyone at the same time. 

“Miss Brienne!!” 

“We miss you!!”

“Won’t you come back?” 

“I got an arm cast! Let me tell her about it!” 

“No, you moron! Her first!” 

“What happened, Fräulein Brienne?” 

“Why did you leave?”

“You didn’t even read me a bedtime story that night!” 

All the kids pipe in one after the other with their personal question and demands, without letting Brienne answer--not that she’s got any voice or reason to make out a proper answer. Only by hearing their voices and complaints, her heart is throbbing again. Dammit, she’s missing them all so much, and by the sounds of it, they miss her, too. Covering her mouth--her crying--with her hand, she doesn’t interrupt the kids at all as she tries to calm down. 

What in the world did Rickon do to have his arm in a cast? That was Brandon complaining he didn’t get to hear his bed night story the night where she left. She couldn’t answer any of their questions or express her concerns, regardless, for she’s still trying to swallow back a tight knot in her throat threatening to burst into tears. At least Mr. Lannister had the decency of never deceiving her by calling through a blocked number. 

“Kids, I’m so sorry,” she says at some point, speaking over all of their cries and complaints and pleas for her to return. 

She forces to keep it short and simple--no sentimentalities that would cause her to break down. She simply couldn’t. She can’t come forward to her all-time best friend, how could she give an honest answer to a bunch of kids who’ve suffered enough in their lifetimes for her to add to the turmoil? She left thinking that a clean break and a simple answer through a letter would be best for everyone involved. In retrospect, perhaps she now knows it wasn’t the best for everyone involved, but she cannot back down now. There’s no way. 

“I simply had to go. I’m sorry I left without prior notice, but I trust your Father will fix everything soon. You’ll have a new governess, and everything will be fine. You’ll see. Goodbye.” 

“No! Fräulein Brienne, pleas--” 

She hangs up before their tears and their pleas get the better of her. Next thing she knows, however, she’s sobbing right there on the kitchen table, throwing the ringing phone away over to the couch, biting her lower lip to stop the weeping. She wishes everything will be fine for her, her family, the kids, Mr. Lannister, and the Baroness. 

Is it all wishful thinking too? she can’t help but wonder--or fear. From the moment she met him, she realized Mr. Lannister messed up time and time again, and that he’d been wrong for years before she came around. Is she truly hoping that she helped him see right from wrong in such a clear way that he’s not messing it all up again now that she’s gone? That his relationship with the kids is wonderful? That he did hire a proper governess who’d get along with the kids and would use kindness and music instead of discipline and rules? That the kids have fallen in love with the Baroness overnight? 

Worrying so much over seven children three hundred miles away from where she is, over a man she shouldn’t have feelings over, says something about her state of mind. She’s got a child of her own, a father with a severe condition she needs to take care of, a job-hunting operation she needs to resolve within weeks or they’ll face dire economic consequences. She doesn’t need nor has time for struggles that don’t involve her anymore and that she’s under no legal obligation to attend to or resolve. 

The computer is on now, and there’s not that much time before she needs to leave for her job interview. The wise thing to do would be to forget about the call, about Mr. Lannister, about that whole life she was briefly part of and must now forget, and focus on what’s at hand. However, next thing Brienne knows, she’s ringing Margaery’s down the hall instead of going out for her usual jog. Thank the Seven Gods, it’s Saturday, so Margaery can invite her into her bedroom and let her have a good cry, provided by one of her excellent teas. 

“Brienne, will you now please tell me what in the world happened in Salzburg?” she demands after some long minutes. “Why did they send you back?” 

“They didn’t send me back. I left.” 

“Why?”

“I. . . I was frightened.” 

“Frightened! Were they unkind to you?” 

“No, of course, they weren’t!” shrieks Brienne, outraged that someone should think so. Well, if she were completely honest, Jaime was kind of rude at the beginning, to put it mildly. But that’s not what this is about and Margaery already knows all about Jaime. “I. . . I was just confused. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never. . . I’ve never felt this way before, and that’s why I couldn’t stay. I knew I’d be safe back home.” 

“Brienne, you didn’t return to be safe, you escaped,” Margaery explains softly, taking her hand for reassurance. “What is it you couldn’t face? Was it. . . Was it Mr. Lannister?” 

Blushing, not daring to cross eyes with Margaery, Brienne nods once, slowly. Her friend lets out a squeal and drags the chair ever so close, coaxing more of an explanation from Brienne. 

“Are you in love with him?” 

Well, that about ends the list of questions Brienne had an answer to. She couldn’t stay and face Jaime and the Baroness and that’s why she left, but she doesn’t know how she feels exactly about the man, Baroness Cersei, and everyone else. 

“I don’t know,” she confesses in despair. “The Baroness said I was. She said that he was in love with me too, but I didn’t want to believe it, I couldn’t! There were times, when we looked at each other. . . When I could hardly breathe.” 

As Brienne tries to explain the few awkward moments with Mr. Lannister that she’s got stuck in her mind, and give her a strange tingling in her stomach, Margaery stays silent. She listens to Brienne’s shared morning coffees with Jaime, to spending time together with the children, to signing Edelweiss. To dancing together on that waltz and being so close that Brienne briefly dared to lean and kiss him. . . 

When she falls silent, Margaery cannot speak for a few seconds. “You do love him,” she sums up in the end. 

“I don’t know. Is that what it is?” she asks. 

“I think it is, yes,” confirms Margaery, to Brienne’s shock and horror. She hides her head behind her hands and starts crying, feeling confused, angry, blue, and half a dozen more feelings she cannot name right now. 

“But how? Why? I never wanted to lead him on. . .”

“Does it matter? You have feelings for him, that is all. Come on, Brienne, loving another man isn’t a crime,” she laughs, forcing Brienne to stand straight on the chair. She gives her a napkin to dry her eyes and face. 

“He is to marry!” 

“Will he?” asks Margaery. “How do you know your feelings aren’t corresponded? The way you speak, he must have felt something too.” 

“I don’t know,” Brienne complains again. She bends to rest on the table, her arms crossed so she can once more hide her face on the corner of her arms. Margaery gives her a total of ten seconds this time. 

“Well, then, there’s only one thing you can do, isn’t there?” 

Brienne’s head shoots right up, even more scared after all the confessions. If she knows Margaery, she senses what she’s going to suggest, and she couldn’t handle it. 

“Don’t you dare. . .” 

“You must go back and find out,” Margaery says nonetheless. “These walls were not built to shut out problems. No, you have to face them. You have to live the life you were born to live.” 

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” complains Brienne. 

“This is it, isn’t it?” asks Margaery, ever so softly, caressing her hair. “This is the dream, and you have to fight for it.”

_Climb every mountain, search high and low. _  
_Follow every byway, every path you know. _  
_Climb every mountain, ford every stream. _  
_Follow every rainbow till you find your dream _  
_A dream that will need all the love you can give _  
_Every day of your life, for as long as you live _  
_Climb every mountain, ford every stream _  
_Follow every rainbow till you find your dream. _  
_A dream that will need all the love you can give _  
_Every day of your life, for as long as you live _  
_Climb every mountain, ford every stream _  
_Follow every rainbow till you find your dream! _

Brienne cries throughout the whole recital, an old poem her father taught him that’s helped her and Margaery many times in the past. If she had sat down and dared to think about it, truly think about what she was supposed to do, the poem would have come to mind by herself. She was just so confused, she didn’t want to sit down and analyze her feelings. She hasn’t given herself the chance to be alone with her thoughts for a single minute: she’s occupied every waking moment with her father, her son, house chores, and job hunting.

“So, what are you going to do?” demands Margaery. 

“I. . .” Brienne stutters. What _is_ she going to do? Could she truly stay here in Vienna with her father, her son, and her best friend, pretend she never went to Salzburg? Pretend she never met those seven blessed children, pretend that whatever happened between her and Mr. Lannister had never happened? Is that truly possible? Is she that much of a coward?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split this chapter and the next in two because I was pushing for 20k. . . But chapter 19 will come this week too, so there's that !! 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne returns to Salzburg with high hopes and her mind set. She might find soon enough that life isn't a fairytale. . .

The wardrobe doors open, Brienne falls in despair at the hangers in front of her. She wishes she could make a worthy impression this time around, she’s trying to win Mr. Jaime Lannister’s grace after all, but she hasn’t had the time or the money to go shopping, exactly. Her wardrobe is just as plain and dull as always. Simple and comfortable clothes that will last as much as possible for her to postpone shopping sprees, which usually always involve new clothes for Podrick--he’s always outgrowing the T-shirts, pants, and shoes she buys for him. She’s happy that he’s growing at his normal rate, but sometimes she comes to wonder when he will stop growing. 

Attempting to leave Mr. Lannister flabbergasted by her figure or clothes is useless, so Brienne doesn’t waste much time choosing her clothes. Mr. Lannister is already aware of her fashion style and unless she went through a total beautifying process she’s got no time or money to spend on, she’ll have to come to terms with reality. She thinks she’s taking the exact same pieces of clothing she brought the first time around, actually. 

A pair of squeaky wheels come her way and Brienne stops packing, taking a second to brace herself. First blockage of the day: her father. 

She turns around just as Selwyn’s head pops up, peeking through the door. He’s got the funniest look on his eyes upon seeing her packing her bag, and it’s no surprise. There were no trips scheduled, simply because it’s out of the budget. The Tarth family hasn’t been on a road trip for almost a year now. Brienne had Podrick almost convinced that staying at Margaery’s was a holiday inn. 

“Brinny? Where are you going?” 

“Back to Salzburg,” she says, choosing for the most direct and simple of approaches, that is, honesty. After blurting those three words out, she resumes her packing--although she’s just making time now, folding each piece of clothing with mesmerizing care. 

“Mr. Lannister hired you back, then?” asks her father, the hint of pride in his voice. He wasn’t at all thrilled with Brienne leaving her post and the Lannisters in the middle of the night without prior warning, and more than once in the past couple of weeks he hinted that Brienne should return and patch things up, or at the very least, return some of the missed phone calls from Mr. Lannister. Her giving in and going back does make him proud of her. 

“I’m not exactly sure I’m going as a governess, Dad.” 

“In what other capacity…?” he starts to ask, but one look from Brienne makes him stop to think. After a minute, his face changes again. “Oh. I see.” 

“Are you too disappointed in me?” asks Brienne, for her father’s succinct answer scared her a bit. 

“Come here,” he commands, reaching his hand. 

A T-shirt hanging from her arm, she meets her father at the entrance of the room, all avoiding his eye. Selwyn takes her hand and squeezes her tightly, and Brienne knows he’d help her sit on his lap if he was strong enough. 

“Nothing you could ever do would make me feel disappointed in you, Brinny. Nothing,” he says, squeezing her hand tightly. “If you came back home because you may or may not have feelings for that man, you made a big mistake, honey. You never should have left.” 

“He’s to marry, Dad,” she informs, just so he has all the facts before he makes any judgments on ethics and morals around here. That doesn’t seem to change the balance for him, however, and he starts shaking his head. “I left because it was the best for Mr. Lannister, for Baroness Cersei, for the children. . .” 

“But not the best for _you,”_ he stops her ranting. “You need to look after your needs and desires once in a while. You’ve spent years focused solely on taking care of me and Podrick, it’s time to take care of yourself and your heart. If there’s a chance you’re going to get some happiness in your life at long last, you should seize it.” 

The words bring tears to Brienne’s eyes. She wouldn’t say she’s sacrificed parts of her life because of her son and father--if she looks back on everything she’s done for her family, she does it with pride. But, just as Margaery said a few minutes ago, it’s not exactly a fulfilled life, either. She needs to put herself first for once. She wipes a tear off the corner of her eye right before she leans to kiss her father on the forehead. He pats her shoulder reassuringly. 

“Don’t you worry about anything. We’ll be all right. I’ll make Podrick understand. You just go back there and sweep that man off of his feet.” 

“When you talk to Podrick, don’t tell him anything about Mr. Lannister, please,” she begs, managing to pull off a half-convincing smile. 

Shocked at first, her father nods after a few seconds, and respects Brienne by not trying to convince her otherwise. Very early on, Podrick realized theirs wasn’t a conventional nuclear family consisting of two parents and their son. He has sometimes asked about his father and where he is and why he doesn’t live with them, instead having old, boring grandpa around. Brienne has muddled through as best as she could throughout those conversations, but Pod has never given up on having a father. 

That’s why Brienne wants Podrick knowing nothing about Mr. Lannister. In case she can’t make things work, the poor lad might not survive the disappointment. However wrong Brienne’s reservations feel, Selwyn can’t say he doesn’t understand. 

“I’ll be in my room,” he says, to give her privacy in order for her to finish packing. 

Alone in the bedroom again, Brienne gives herself all of one minute to cry and settle down before returning to her task at hand. She knows she really should wait for Pod to wake up and explain why she’s left without prior notice, just as she abandoned the Lannister children two weeks ago at that ball gown. However, Podrick won’t wake up for another hour, at the very least, and Brienne’s afraid that she just cannot sit and wait around that long. She’d go crazy. The only consolation is that Podrick knows her finding a job is of paramount importance, and he’ll understand her coming back to Salzburg if there’s a good job opening--she left once before, after all. 

Ten minutes later, her bag’s packed, and Brienne walks out the door--however, she does need to return to the bedroom to change her sports gear into more ordinary clothes for the trip. She bids farewell to her father, who meets her with a broad smile, a warm hug, and sends her off wishing her the best of luck, promising that he and Podrick will be alright. 

Two hours and a half in a bus to Salzburg. A little stop for eating the sandwich she made at home and to talk to Podrick while waiting for the shuttle that will take her to the Lannister’s. This time, she makes sure the driver drops her off much closer to the Mansion than the last time she got here and, in spite of carrying her bag and guitar suitcase as well, she makes it to the Mansion without barely breaking a sweat. 

Common sense would tell her she needs to ring the bell, but she refuses to do so and let old Franz be the first to see her back--uncertain if he would welcome her or throw her out, due to respect for Mr. Lannister and the Baroness. Instead, she accesses the Mansion through the woods and the garden. 

The lake to her left, she approaches the backdoor entrance when she sees the children out in the gardens. She counts each of them, saying their names under her breath--Arya, Bran, Jon, Robb, Sansa, Rickon, Gendry--already wondering what have they been up to lately, but then she stops when the singing reaches her ears. It sounds so sad, her heart breaks into a million pieces. She didn’t teach them music, how to read a music sheet or how to play the guitar for them to turn a supposedly lifting song into a depressing bore. 

  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings,  
_ _These are a few of my favorite things.  
_

“Why don’t I feel better?” complains Rickon, and Sansa opens her arms for him. 

What in the world has happened to them? She left thinking their relationship with their Father was fixed, hoping they’d be all right without her. Their forlorn expressions and singing cannot be caused because of her leaving, that’s for sure. What’s happened here? Perhaps she _should_ have called Mr. Lannister back, or allowed the children to explain. Maybe she’s missed something important she should have been aware of much earlier. Maybe they did need her back. 

As they begin the second verse of the song, Brienne can’t help but join in--they just sounded too blue, she couldn’t stand hearing that slower, sadder version of the one song that’s meant to fix everything in the world and lift everyone’s spirits. 

  
_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes  
_ _Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes  
_ _Silver white winters that melt into…  
_

By that third line, the kids start to realize an eighth voice has joined in, and one by one, they all drop singing, looking around. Searching for her. The way all their faces lit up when they see her is invaluable, and Brienne’s heart skips a beat. 

“Fräulein!” they yell. 

“Fräulein Brienne!” 

“You’ve returned!” 

They all cheer, yell her name, and run towards her. Brienne needs to drop her guitar and her bag to receive them all, Arya of all people, the first one to jump into her arms. Everyone joins in afterwards, threatening to throw her on the ground--and she kneels on the grass to receive everyone, caressing Rickon’s hair, Brandon’s and Gendry’s cheeks, kissing Sansa, hugging Jon and Robb and Arya tightly. 

  
_These are a few of my favorite things.  
_ _When the dog bites, when the bee stings  
_ _When I'm feeling sad,  
_ _I simply remember my favorite things_  
_And then I don’t feel so bad!  
_

Now they’re exuding the proper amount of excitement and happiness the song should be sung, all singing at the top of their lungs, broad smiles on all their faces. Someone has taken care of her bag and guitar suitcase as they make their way back to the Mansion, holding Brandon’s and Rickon’s hands. It doesn’t feel awkward at all, it feels just right. 

“Children, I’m so glad to see you!” she says when they finish the song. 

“We missed you!” yells Arya. 

“I missed you,” confesses Brienne. “Gendry, how are you?” 

“Hungry,” he says, prompting a burst of laughter from his siblings. Brienne certainly feels as if she’d missed something, but doesn’t have the chance to question the boy. 

All seven kids start speaking at the same time, one over the other, telling her all the tidbits she’s missed out on: including Rickon’s injury prompted by Arya, Bran’s wonderful new paintings he’s dying to show her, the riding they’ve been doing with their Father… She can barely focus and follow on a single conversation, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a complete racket--one that she’s missed more than she could confess these past couple of weeks. It makes her feel just like home, even when she’s just left home. 

“We have so much to tell you too,” says Robb, a bit of apprehension in his voice. 

“The most important thing is that Father is going to be married,” says Sansa. 

Brienne freezes on her tracks, all hints of humor and smiles vanished from her face upon that single sentence. No other announcements or jokes follow--that was the biggest piece of news, undoubtedly. 

_So I am late after all, _ she reckons, her eyes lost in thought, her good mood gone. _Of course, I am. How could I be so damned stupid? _

It’s just as Baroness Cersei promised it’d happen: Mr. Lannister has moved on, he’s forgotten all about her, and has gone ahead with his engagement to the Baroness. It was just a silly, little fling. Fleeting and forgotten as soon as she left. The one man she thought could have feelings for her, and it was just her imagination. On her part, Brienne’s just made a fool out of herself, again, and she’s in two minds about turning around and go back to Vienna before Mr. Lannister himself or the Baroness realize she’s back. . . 

Unfortunately, it is too late for that too. The man in question appears on the terrace and Brienne’s breath catches when she sees that grey and green suit he looks so dashing in, the hint of surprise--and who knows what else--in those deep eyes of his. 

“Look, Father!” 

“Fräulein Brienne’s back!” the children announce in celebration. 

Neither Mr. Lannister or Brienne look at all content with the news, both frozen, just standing there, looking at each other with shock, twenty feet apart. What is going on in his mind? The first time she met the man, she thought he’d open right up if only someone was brave enough to speak up. But she isn’t. Not yet. 

“All right, everyone inside for their dinner!” says Mr. Lannister then. 

The kids run off and go inside, Robb and Jon taking Brienne’s guitar suitcase and her bag, respectively. If she’d been able to react in time, Brienne would have asked them to stay behind with her and Mr. Lannister, or maybe she’d have followed them inside, already fulfilling her duties, or to leave her bags so she can return to Salzburg tonight. But before the thoughts cross her mind, they’re all gone, and she’s alone with Mr. Lannister, barely able to breathe. 

“Fräulein. You left without saying goodbye. Even to the children,” Mr. Lannister accuses her. 

“It was wrong of me,” Brienne whispers, knowing she was supposed to answer somehow, to say anything. “Forgive me.” 

“Why did you?” he presses, and Brienne almost screams, or runs off. Of course, he doesn’t know. And it’s fairly obvious too that she cannot come clean now. 

“Please don’t ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists,” she begs. 

And then the last actor comes to stage: Baroness Cersei. Her presence only reminds Brienne of their last conversation, and if she could, she would stab a knife into her heart for her not staying away in Vienna. Now, she’s come back, expecting. . . What? That Mr. Lannister would drop to his knees, apologize, and sweep her off her feet, making life-lasting vows? 

_Those are only fairytales, Brienne. _

After a few seconds of shocked silence amongst the three adults, Brienne cannot stand it any longer, giving courtesy a chance too. That’s what she knows best, after all. Keeping to herself, keeping her feelings hidden and locked away. 

“I wish you every happiness, Baroness. And you too, Mr. Lannister. The children say you’re to marry.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” nods the Baroness. 

At that, Brienne climbs up the stairs to the terrace, hoping to make it inside this time around. The polite smile and propriety won’t hold for much longer, she needs to be alone for a minute to collect her thoughts. If she could only say she needs to attend the children before dinner. . . 

“You _are_ back to stay?” asks Mr. Lannister. 

She spins with her heart in her fist. _How can he ask that?_ Is he even more soulless than she’d originally thought? Brienne can’t help but exchange one brief look with the poor, tortured Baroness. Mr. Lannister’s completely clueless, so much that he’s hurting the two women present in the process. 

“Only until arrangements can be made for another governess,” she says, giving them all a beacon of hope. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Neither Mr. Lannister nor the Baroness stops her, and so Brienne can finally step inside the mansion, away from their inquisitive eyes and their questions. Halfway up the stairs, Brienne slows down and takes a deep breath. She’s escaped from Mr. Lannister and Baroness Cersei, but she’s nowhere ready to face the children so soon either. 

Freaking fantastic. She’s outdone herself. Her grand gesture, her big plan to sweep Jaime--Mr. Lannister now--off his feet, it’s all gone out the window. If only she’d texted in advanced, asked a simple enough question, or taken any of Mr. Lannister’s insisting phone calls. . . 

Part of her wonders, briefly, if the reason for all those early morning phone calls was to give her the big news. Maybe he wanted to grant her the courtesy of knowing first-hand through a proper call, not through a text or through a bunch of kids. 

_Well, it’s nice to dream, but that’s all it is, you stupid, foolish girl, _ Brienne chastises herself, resuming her climbing up the stairs, towards the children’s bedrooms. Mr. Lannister owes her nothing, it makes virtually no sense for him to deliver the news personally. It makes a whole lot more sense thinking that the man just wanted to discuss her pending wages over the phone, if not face to face. 

The seven kids greet her with exuberant greetings, yelps, and applause. Gone are the long faces she saw when she first met them again, as they stand and run to her in order to hug her, threatening never to release her. Brienne shakes hands, caresses cheeks and hairs, squeezes arms and rubs backs all around, relieved that they’re not expecting a single sentence out of her--she’d choke out. 

However, she does read something else in some of their eyes. Robb, Jon, Sansa, and Arya, after the first burst of celebration, settle down, step back and address her. . . What is it exactly? Regret? Reproach? Accusation? She holds their eyes, stubbornly standing her ground as she takes Brandon into her arms. Their body language indicates they’re tense, expectant, displeased, and in return, Brienne cannot feel but outraged. She knows where they’re coming from, and it only gets her even more on edge, now that her patience and tolerance is growing thin. 

What did they expect? A magical solution for their Father’s predicament? To their own crossroads? Music, turns out, can’t fix everything. She did the gesture of coming back, and that’s all they should demand of her. It was simply too late. 

“Come on, let’s go to dinner,” she commands. Anything that’ll keep her mind off the children’s judgment. In the end, she doesn’t know what’s worse: Mr. Lannister’s obliviousness, the pain she’s putting Baroness Cersei through, or the disappointment in the elder siblings. Coming was, by all and any standards, a bloody mistake, she reflects as they reach the salon, the Lannister brothers and the Baroness already there. 

“Brienne!” Tyrion greets her warmly, kissing her on both cheeks, the only one adult in the whole Mansion who looks remotely happy to see her back. He also offers her a drink he won’t allow her to decline, and she wouldn’t even try to. “It’s so nice to see you again. Welcome back.” 

“Thank you. How’ve you been, Tyrion? How’re the festival preparations going?” 

As the children settle on the sofas and the floor, Brienne looks above Tyrion’s shoulders. Jaime and the Baroness keep to themselves by the corner, drinks on their hands. Albeit Mr. Lannister’s got, per usual, his right hand inside his pocket, she sees the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he looks down on the children, beaming. He even cracks one of his jokes, that Brienne hadn’t missed at all, and the children, for once, do not complain. 

“Hey, do you know what a beginner beekeeper is called? A newbee,” he says. 

The look leaves her wondering. . . What in the world has happened around here while she was gone? It almost feels as if Mr. Lannister missed his children, and their jabber and jokes, just as much as she, but the kids behave just like they did already by the time she left. Did the kids truly miss her that much while she was away. . .? 

_Don’t go there,_ she forbids herself, and just falls in line when they go through to the dining room. 

Except for Tyrion, none of the adults talk much during dinner. Thankfully, Brandon, Rickon, and Gendry save the day, telling Brienne about everything that she’s missed out the past couple of weeks. Falling back to their usual self, after a few minutes, Jon, Robb, Sansa, and Arya end up chipping in too, giving their own point of view of certain embarrassing events that unfolded during her absence. Once more, Brienne catches herself staring time and time again at Mr. Lannister, down at the head table, and his marveled expression while he listens to his children ranting. He should have been used to their incessant talking by now, she reckons. This is what dinner or lunch sounded like before. 

The kids don’t give her a hard time going to bed tonight. Excited as they are to have her back, still telling her tidbits of the days she’s missed, they require Brienne reading them for an awful amount of time--but sure enough, they all fall asleep in the end. 

Not ready to go back to the solitude of her room, which would really force her to give Margaery and her father a call and explain her disastrous return to Salzburg, Brienne takes a jacket and leaves the Mansion, then the Lannister grounds. There’s someone else she needs to say hello to, and Loras’ cosmopolitans might just be what her mind and heart need right now--to forget and to feel dumb. She could care less if anyone spotted her leaving. She’s already fulfilled her duties towards the children, but, if Mr. Lannister believes she’s not doing her job properly, he can go ahead and fire her on the spot. It’d be a blessing in disguise. 

“Brienne!” Loras yelps when he answers the door. He waves for Brienne to step inside and calls out for Renly as well. The man, somewhere on the second floor, promises that he’ll be right downstairs. 

“How’s it going?” Brienne asks politely as she surrenders her jacket. 

“Oh, the usual. Renly’s working too much,” says Loras. 

“I heard my name,” complains Renly as he climbs down the stairs, even before he knows who the newcomer at his doorstep is, “don’t listen to him, whatever he said about me, he’s wrong and I can prove it. . . Brienne! Darling, you’re back!” 

“Hello there,” says she, blushing slightly under the two men’s stares. 

Renly gives her a warm kiss on the cheeks, caressing her arm tenderly. “What in the world are you doing here?” 

At that, Brienne pouts, taken aback for a second. “So, you know?” 

“We got the invitation a couple of days ago,” explains Renly, his voice lowering an octave out of pity. He leads the way to the terrace, one hand on Brienne’s lower back. “It’s not as if we’re going either way, of course, but it was nice of them.”

“Okay. I’m going to prepare you a double cosmopolitan,” says Loras, without even stepping outside to the terrace. Before he leaves, Brienne raises two fingers of her hand, desperation in her eyes. “Gotcha. Be right back.” 

Renly helps Brienne sit down on one of the benches. Albeit not physically injured per se, she can use the help until her head stops spinning. She’s having a hard time collecting her thoughts and realizing what in the world is happening around her. 

“I wish you’d called beforehand,” whispers Renly, caressing her arm. “We could have warned you.” 

“Me too,” confesses Brienne. “I didn’t really think it through.” 

“Why come back? You fled two weeks ago and now--”

“It’s taken this stupid woman a long time to realize I have feelings for Jaime,” Brienne tries to explain, swallowing back the knot in her throat. “But it’s all too late now. He’s not Jaime to me, but Mr. Lannister, the man I work for.” 

“Please tell me you’re not thinking of staying here even after he’s rejected you,” begs Renly. At that moment, Loras returns carrying a tray with four drinks. He lays two of them in front of Brienne before he sits down. 

“What other choice do I have? I need the money.” 

“For heaven’s sake, Brienne, we’ll give you whatever it is Mr. Lannister’s paying you,” scowls Loras. “You are _not_ staying in that house for a minute longer if that’s going to end with you all depressed over Mr. Lannister. Again.” 

“I’m not planning on becoming a charity project, either,” she replies. “No, I’ll earn what I’m owed because of my work, and that’s it. I’ll stay only until they can find another governess, or maybe until the wedding, whatever comes first.” 

“You’re not serious,” scowls Loras. “How could you stand living there for that long still?”

Brienne shrugs and takes a long sip of her drink. Leaving without notice again and going back home is out of the question--and, as she said, she needs the money. No, she’ll try to stay for as long as she can, only leaving if things do become unbearable at some point in the future. But, for now, she can drink her sorrows down. 

Try as she might, she doesn’t exactly get to drown her sorrows, for there’s no amount of alcohol or cookies in the world enough to fill the void in her stomach. Brienne returns to the Mansion way too late and way too intoxicated to call herself a responsible adult in charge of seven children, but again, she could care less. 

In the morning, she gives herself a rare late morning, choosing not to go on a run or meeting Mr. Lannister for breakfast and getting, instead, one more hour of blessedly needed sleep before she does need to attend her duties. Unable to face Mr. Lannister at all, or to spend the morning indoors, she takes the kids to the city. They decide to visit, not for the first time--nor the last, come to think of it--the Museum of Natural History and Technology. The place compels the kids to behave appropriately and fairly quietly, and gives Brienne a free card to wander around all alone for a bit. 

Afterwards they still kill some time before returning to the Mansion. Brienne takes them to Jorah’s bakery for a few beverages and biscuits, buying an extra can of cookies for herself--something tells her she’s going to need the consolation and the extra food in the next few days. 

It should be easier being with the children, she reckons. And it is, of course. Despite her headache, she weathers through their never-ending babbling and chatter, for there’s so much they need to bring her up to date from the days she was in Vienna. But that’s mainly Brandon, Rickon, and Gendry. The other four pitch in too and take as much part of the conversation as the smaller kids allow them to, but, whenever Brienne crosses their eyes, she sees the same accusatory and hurt look as yesterday. They still expect her to come up with a solution to fix everything. 

She wishes there was. She wishes she were that skilled, but there’re no more tricks up her sleeves. Mr. Lannister decided to marry Baroness Cersei, and she shouldn’t even be in the picture, and that’s the end of it. 

Baffled by returning to the Mansion with the kids uncharacteristically ill-tempered, she receives the best piece of news she’s heard since yesterday evening: some very urgent and impending work thing came up and Mr. Lannister had to go to town, so neither he nor Baroness Cersei will join them for lunch. It’s only uncle Tyrion, and the way he jokes and behaves, it’s almost as if there were eight children instead of seven. Still, it’s good enough for Brienne: Tyrion manages to make her forget, however briefly, her worries. 

One afternoon focused on the kids’ homework, Mr. Lannister caught up in meetings and Baroness Cersei staying in Salzburg to wait for her husband-to-be, means Brienne can avoid Jaime for almost twenty-four hours straight. It gives her plenty of time to reassemble her thoughts and feelings and to embrace herself for the inevitable face-to-face that will eventually happen--although it’s not even enough time for her. 

The next morning, when she wakes up with the sun and finds herself unable to stay in bed and roll around for another hour, she figures it’s best if she went out for a jog. 

She feels much better after the exercise, even if at the finish line she does meet Mr. Lannister, having breakfast at the terrace. Reading the morning newspapers, his right arm resting on the table, not at all bothered that Brienne should see him without that prosthetic. Perhaps she should think of taking another route from now on, Brienne ponders as she slowly comes to a halt, leaning on her knees to catch her breath. Missing one day of working to fight off a hangover wasn’t a good idea. 

Perhaps Mr. Lannister wasn’t ‘forced’ to go back to the city yesterday and stay in late, maybe he was just trying to get out of her way. If that’s so, she could extend the same courtesy as well. 

“Morning,” he greets her. He points at a spare coffee mug on the table and Brienne takes it, ready to hide the disgust off her face at Mr. Lannister not getting the proper amount of sugar and milk to her taste. But, funnily enough, the coffee’s perfect. Did he ask Mia or Emma how she takes her coffee? Should she be worried or flattered at him going the extra mile for her? 

“Have a good day, Mr. Lannister,” she nods. 

“Ah,” he sighs, folding the newspaper. Brienne feels compelled to stay, for it seemed as if he had something else to say, and then he addresses her a charming smile from his seat. “We’d agreed you’d call me Jaime, as I recall.” 

Brienne freezes, shocked. Why in the world wouldn’t he return to formalities and their proper titles if they both know she’s only back for a very brief amount of time, fulfilling the governess post just until he ties the knot with the Baroness and no one needs her around any longer? 

“Of course. Good day,” she nods, returning the coffee mug. She feels much comfortable addressing him as ‘Mr. Lannister’, though. Every time she uses that title, it reminds her of her place, of where the two stand, of her duties and capacities. And, to top it all, it also reminds her of her mistakes, such as taking so damned long to unscramble her feelings and to return to Salzburg. Yeah, she better stick to ‘Mr. Lannister’, not Jaime. 

Whatever her problems with the man are, she tries her best to be her normal self around and with the children. 

For the next few days, she indulges each and every one of the children’s wishes and whims, barely without questioning or arguing their suggestions--they know better than to go overboard with her. No, they simply do everything within their power to forget about Baroness Cersei and, to be completely honest, to avoid Mr. Lannister around meal times as much as humanly possible, without being too conspicuous about it. They go out on the horses and bicycles, they go up to the mountains, and, of course, they sing pretty much every minute of every day. The words ‘homework’ or ‘responsibilities’ or ‘duties’ are barely thought of, much less uttered aloud. They learn and practice new songs every day, and also prepare puppet shows for their Father, Baroness Cersei, and Tyrion.

Brienne and Mr. Lannister still meet every morning for morning coffee, and the falling back to the routine, instead of soothing Brienne, it just makes her more nervous, day after day. Somehow she can tell that the Baroness is completely unaware of their five-minutes morning meetings over coffee, and that knowledge puts her on edge. As if they--she--were doing something awful. Criminal, perhaps. She knows that if the Baroness knew, the two of them would have another heart-to-heart discussion that would probably end with her leaving again without notice, this time for good. 

In spite of that, she keeps meeting Mr. Lannister there on the terrace, day after day, enjoying the warm sun on her face and the coffee mug prepared without fail, with the perfect amount of sugar and milk, by the time she returns from her jog. She couldn’t deny that she rejoices every second of it. However wrong it feels, it’s part of her routine, now. Lots of people can’t go about their days without their first coffee--and she’s one of them. 

To Brienne’s biggest dread and dismay, Mr. Lannister starts using those brief early morning minutes to strike conversations with her. His first attempt, going on about the weather on such a fine August Monday, just makes Brienne roll her eyes and leave out of pity. 

“So you also play the piano?” asks Mr. Lannister the next day. Brienne looks up from her mug, shocked all of a sudden, since she was so comfortable that she was seconds away from dozing off. “I saw you playing yesterday, with the kids.”

“Yes, I do,” Brienne says, hiding her blush behind the mug of coffee. It was a blast being able to play that grandiose piano again, and singing with the kids as well. The guitar will forever be her go-to musical instrument, of course, there’s a reason why she carries it with her everywhere she goes, but a well-tuned, parlor grand piano, it’s something else. 

“Any more hidden talents I should be aware of?”

“No,” she laughs at such a ludicrous question. “That’s about it: the guitar and the piano. No more secrets. I’m an open book, simple.”

“Don’t say that,” Mr. Lannister scowls with a vehemence and a frown between his eyes that surprises Brienne. “You underestimate yourself too much, Miss Tarth.”

Unable to decipher Mr. Lannister’s meaning, or to figure out what’s she supposed to say to that, Brienne simply finishes her coffee in silence. She approaches Mr. Lannister to lay the mug on the table, and he reaches out--his right arm without the prosthetic slides down the glass surface, but then stops and Mr. Lannister returns to his papers. 

At that, Brienne stands to leave the terrace. Before she walks through the kitchen threshold, however, she stops and spins around. There is something she should say.

As far as she knows, ever since Mr. Lannister’s return from Vienna, the kids spent every waking moment bringing him up to date with everything--they’ve told him every tiny detail they thought he should be aware of. Mr. Lannister’s always going to look back with sorrow and regret all the years he lost with his children. 

But there’s still someone who hasn’t opened up completely to her father: Sansa. Now that Brienne and Mr. Lannister have struck some kind of truce, she wonders if it’s her duty to tell him--what better place and time than here and now? 

She’s been standing there for so long that Mr. Lannister looks up from his papers. “So there _are_ more hidden talents I should know about.” 

After a brief deliberation, Brienne just shakes her head. 

“No, sir.” There’s no knowing how upset Mr. Lannister will be after knowing the news, and for the time being, Brienne will not break Sansa’s trust in such a fragrant and unforgiving way. If, or when, she has reason to worry concerning Ramsay, she will speak to Sansa and explain everything to Mr. Lannister. “Nothing else.” 

The next morning, Jaime waits for her sipping his coffee with a funny-looking set of clothing neatly folded laying on the table. The black velvet helmet on top of the clothes and the riding boots on the floor pretty much explains what it is, but at the same time, Brienne’s at a loss once more. 

“This is for you,” Mr. Lannister says, pointing at the ensemble with his fountain pen. 

“I don’t understand,” she confesses as she takes her coffee mug and sits in front of Mr. Lannister, careful not to touch the clothes. 

“The children told me you were injured while horseback riding a few weeks ago,” the man explains slowly. “I figured it was because you didn’t have the right equipment. So, in case you ever want to ride a horse again, here’s everything you need.” 

“Did the children also tell you that I was injured because I had never ridden a horse before?” 

“That small detail did come up, yeah,” grants Mr. Lannister, the hint of amusement in his voice and face. “Which is almost as inexcusable and ineffable as not wearing the proper equipment for horseback riding.” 

“Well, you need to understand that not everyone in the world is born and raised in a Mansion in the outskirts of Salzburg with ten acres to row, cycle, or ride a horse,” scowls Brienne--here they go again, she sighs. Judging, name-calling, and the Gods know what else is coming. 

“I am well aware of that,” Mr. Lannister says, softly, looking at her in the eye. No jokes, no reproaches, no excuses, the simple and honest truth. 

He’s stopped working for a second and Brienne finds that she stops breathing because of that look the man is addressing her. Given the situation, the best thing she can come up with is to drink her coffee and then check the clothes she daren’t touch before. How did Mr. Lannister know her size? He despises her, and just as so many stupid men did before him, he once criticized her stature and figure as well. What would compel him to figure out her exact size for a T-shirt, jeans, and boots? Was the struggle to present her with a weird present for horseback riding really worth it? 

Still, a present is a present, and Mr. Lannister, with all his work, went out of his way to get this all for her. 

“Thank you. I’ll try to remember wearing these next time the kids and I go out on the horses.” 

She takes the gear up to her room and puts it all deep inside a drawer, hoping she won’t be forced to use it any time soon--proving so by making the kids indulge in singing lessons and practicing different songs all morning long. 

Today, all ten family members, plus Brienne, stay at the Mansion for lunch, making it a full house for a change. 

“I saw a car on the drive in parked outside,” says Tyrion in the middle of lunch. 

“Must have been the Boltons,” says Jaime without thinking twice about it. Brienne’s interest piques, and she’s not the only one to raise her head: there’s Sansa, of course, but also Jon and Robb look interested in the conversation all of a sudden. 

“So they’re finally back from their holidays?” asks Jon. “Took them long enough.” 

“I’d never leave Ramsay all summer alone at the house, not in a million years,” agrees Robb, just as he passes along some bread to Arya, seated by his side. 

“Do you know the boy personally?” Tyrion utters the question Brienne wanted to ask. 

“We went to the same school, right before he transferred,” explains Robb. 

“Which, of course, is a euphemism for he got kicked out of school,” Jon adds. “Although the reason was never made public, was it, Father?” 

Mr. Lannister barely looks at his son long enough to give him a negative, monosyllabic answer, before he turns towards Baroness Cersei and resumes a conversation that clearly doesn’t involve either Tyrion or the kids. Back at her seat, Brienne squeezes her napkin under the table as she sees the confusion in Sansa. The girl catches her eye and shakes her head over so slightly in a silent prayer. 

After lunch, Brienne’s in two minds about talking to Mr. Lannister, even before Sansa drags her to the side and begs her not to say anything or enquire any more about Ramsay. Lucky for her, right after the meal, Mr. Lannister and the Baroness run off somewhere, and the kids insist on getting some air and spending the afternoon outside. 

The clothes Mr. Lannister provided prove useful much sooner than Brienne hoped, for the children beg her to go horseback riding that afternoon. Brienne can’t help but wonder if they’d planned the whole thing with their Father in advance, but doesn’t dare to ask--should be glad that everyone went out of their way for this, actually getting her proper size. She has more than enough trouble in order to put on the boots, and Robb has to give her a hand to achieve it. Sitting on a wooden stool while the six kids wait outside, Robb kneels in front of her to put her boots on, promising that these things are always difficult to put on in the first try. 

“It’s tough,” he whispers, struggling with the footwear. 

“Don’t I know it,” chuckles Brienne. “Thank you.” 

“No, I meant. . . Father. And Baroness Cersei,” he confesses, using the boots as an excuse for not meeting Brienne’s eye--although she’s properly equipped already. 

“I understand that,” whispers Brienne, looking over Robb’s shoulder. The other kids seem to have left the premises already, as if they’d forgotten about their eldest sibling and their governess. . . Or as if they wanted to give them some alone time to talk, and bargain. “But it’s going to be OK, Robb. You’ll see.” 

“Couldn’t you. . .?” Robb interjects himself, biting his lower lip. He stands, looking outside the barn, wishing now he hadn’t sent his siblings off. “You could talk to Father.” 

“That’s not my job, Robb,” says Brienne softly. “I was hired by your Father to take care of you lot for the summer holidays. Nothing else. If you’d been injured or fallen sick under my care, I would have contacted your Father in Vienna. But nowhere in my job description says that I’m supposed, under any circumstance, to confront your Father in matters I shouldn’t meddle in.” 

Her speech is dangerously identical to the one Mr. Lannister delivered that night on her first week when she tried talking to the man about his children. She does not like the similarities of the speech and the circumstances--she’s just waving Robb off the way Mr. Lannister did with her, and she despised him for days because of it--but Brienne, and also Robb and all of his siblings, needed her to be completely straightforward in her answer. She’s seen the way they all look at her. They’re hopeful. They wish she would speak up on this instance too. 

But she cannot. For her sake, for Baroness Cersei’s sake, even for Mr. Lannister’s, she simply cannot do it this time. No. In time, she’ll say her proper goodbyes and leave this family be. Let Mr. Lannister and the Baroness enjoy the happy married life they both look so forward to. And their honeymoon will coincide with her trip back to Vienna, back to her ordinary life with her family. The kids will understand it all, eventually, just like she will. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighs upon the defeated look on the boy’s eyes, “but you have to understand--it’s just not my place. Not this time.” 

“We’re begging you,” he insists, the plural including all seven children, which just shatters her heart into a million pieces. It’s hard as hell to tell him no again, but she must pull through, somehow. 

“Robb,” she stops him before he goes on a rant. He looks so forlorn and desperate that Brienne doesn’t think twice before she rests her hand on his shoulder, and he feels comfortable enough not to push her away, too. “I’ve tried teaching you right from wrong. If you don’t like what’s happening, something needs to be done about it--but it has to be you. You or any of your siblings, or better yet, all together, need to talk to your Father about what it is that you don’t like and want changed. I can’t do it for you. D’you understand?” 

“Yeah,” he says through gritted teeth, clearly displeased with Brienne’s answer. She drops her arm and just stands there, heart in a fist, a thousand apologies at the tip of her tongue. “We should go.” 

“Robb,” she calls him out before he leaves. He looks around, the hopeful look gone from his eyes, knowing full well she hasn’t changed her mind in the last couple of seconds. “I know this is utterly unfair of me, but, I do have something to ask you.” 

“Of course,” he says, avoiding her eye and kicking the ground. 

“I need you, and Jon if you can convince him, to keep an eye on Sansa.” 

The request does startle Robb, and he looks up, shocked and scared at the same time--his Father and the Baroness all but forgotten right about now. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing worrying, for now. But I need your help to keep it that way.” 

“Fräulein, what aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m just being a tad overprotective and paranoid.” 

“Should I be speaking to Father?” 

“Sure. Right after you and your siblings talk to him about the Baroness,” Brienne tries to joke in an attempt to lighten things up. 

It was the wrong thing to say, however. It is a sore subject and she shouldn’t have brought it up just as she was trying to patch things up with poor Robb. There’s no time to fix things, however, as the boy spins on his heels and kneels to grab his helmet off the ground, running a hand through his face to wipe off the treacherous dripping tears. She takes a very deep breath of air before following him outside--what’s there left to say, on either subject? 

The disappointment and hurt she meets in every kid’s eyes is heartbreaking. After Robb gives them some sort of signal that she’s missed, they can barely look at her, or talk to her. Sansa was holding Mendel for her and can scarcely hold back while Brienne mounts the horse before she runs off with the rest of her siblings. How is she screwing things up so badly? She fears the kids will come to hate her as much as they despised all the previous governesses, and she couldn’t stand that. 

“Come on, Mendel, be a good boy,” Brienne whispers, tapping gently on Mendel’s crin. “Don’t attack me too, okay? Let’s take it nice and slow.” 

Things with the seven kids might be great as usual, or almost, but Brienne feels, to some degree, that she’s betraying them too. Some part of her knows the pain she’s causing Baroness Cersei for staying and meeting Mr. Lannister every morning doesn’t come close to the pain she’s causing the kids, and this is one conundrum she’s got no idea how to resolve. If she left, things would be fine with Baroness Cersei and Mr. Lannister again. But she’s uncertain if her leaving would help the kids at all. So, for the time being, common sense tells her it’s best to stay, and still, the kids don’t look as happy and joyful as she’d hope. They do enjoy their time together, the songs she teaches them, the puppet shows they rehearse, but there’s a gloomy atmosphere hovering permanently over their heads, and songs won’t chase it away. 

And yet, she doesn’t change her morning routine, or her jogging routine, and the next morning she meets Mr. Lannister once more at the terrace. Today, he awaits her with a check. It was sitting under the coffee plate, folded in half, so Brienne had no idea of what it was until she opened the piece of paper and saw the sum written in Mr. Lannister’s handwriting and signature. 

“My check always comes at the end of the month,” she replies, struggling to find words and the strength to fold the paper and returning it on the table. She already got her full paycheck last month, this one is simply unacceptable. 

At that, Mr. Lannister looks up from his papers, seemingly unfathomed for her miserable attempt at returning the check. “It’s not your paycheck. It’s what you’re owed because of the clothes you bought the children. Nowhere in your job description was stipulated that you needed to provide for them, so here’s the sum you spent.” 

Brienne’s heart skips a beat at that. Buying those ‘playing clothes’ did sting her heart and her wallet, and although she kept repeating herself that the children’s happiness and excitement to spend days running wild and playing was reward enough, she was in the red until the end of the month. If she hadn’t had the luxury of having all her expenses taken care of at the Mansion, she’d still be in debt. 

There’s nothing more to do except accepting the check she so clearly needs. Without a word, she takes it, folds the paper and keeps it safe inside one of the trouser’s pockets. Only then does she join Mr. Lannister and drinks her coffee in peace. 

For everyone’s sake, she decides right then and there that it’s in everyone’s best interests if she tries to keep away from Jaime. Of course, she’ll come to him if there’s anything he should know about the children, but otherwise, she settles that she’ll try to keep her distance. For him, for the Baroness, for herself. . . It’s better this way. 

However, she knew in advance it’d never be so efficient as when Jaime was away in Vienna. As a matter of fact, she breaks her own pact that same night when she steps into the Library. She hadn’t had much chance of reading in Vienna or Salzburg since she got back, and after putting the children to bed, she was looking forward to some alone time to catch up on Dostoyevski. But, once more, she meets Mr. Lannister there. 

She would have been out of the woods had she been a little bit careful, for the man is sound asleep on the couch, halfway reading some papers. A glass of whiskey half-full on the carpeted floor, a dozen documents have slipped off his hands and are scattered around the couch, his chest, and the floor. She also realizes that Jaime took off his prosthetic at some point after dinner, and now his stump lies over his stomach. 

It would have been fine and no one would have heard about it if Brienne had just left the Library without saying a word, but she simply couldn’t. She finds herself stepping forward without having given any conscious orders, and kneels by the couch to pick up the scattered documents and his drink, and lays it all over the coffee table. 

_He looks so peaceful, _ she thinks. She’s never seen him so relaxed, so at ease, so comfortable, not ever. Then again, she’s never seen him asleep before. Incidentally, she’s never broken into his privacy in such an indiscreet and unforgivable way--this is fifty times worse than when she barged into his room on that first week, she scowls as she realizes she was way too close to the man lying on the couch. But as she meant to leave, she freezes on the spot, watching Jaime’s resting, his face neutral for once, his deep breathing filling the room. 

After a minute, she chastises herself for the big mistakes she’s making one after another, since she got back, and turns around. 

“Miss Tarth?” 

She jumps, startled, and clenches onto her book as she takes a very deep breath. If only she’d been smart enough to leave unnoticed when she had the chance. . . At the very least, she believes that with only that one lamp turned on, her blush won’t be so noticeable. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispers. 

He’s sitting now, rubbing his eyes, still sleepy. He needs all of ten seconds to realize he’s taken off his prosthetic and quickly hide that hand inside his pajama’s pocket. Brienne drops her gaze too as not to make him even more uncomfortable, and that’s when he starts looking around the couch and the floor. He’s surprised to find the documents and his drink on the coffee table, which is not where he’d left them all earlier--figuring out all of Brienne’s transgressions. But the look he gives her is not one of anger or displeasure, he even shows a little smile. 

“You didn’t,” he lies, soft voice and smile. “I should go to bed, either way.” 

With that, he stands and reaches out for his drink, finishing it, before he starts collecting all the folders and papers. Brienne stays there, not knowing what to do or how to politely excuse herself and run away to her bedroom. Aren’t her chambers just fine for a bit of a late-night reading? 

“I’m afraid I’ve ruined another reading night,” he says then, pointing at the book she’s holding against her chest. “My apologies.” 

“Not at all,” she replies formally. Nervousness gets the better of her and she racks her brain in order to find something, anything really, to fill in the silence. Luckily, there’s always the children. “Mr. Lannister, I wanted to tell you that Jon’s still complaining about his teeth. It’s getting worrisome, so I wanted to book an appointment with the dentist.” 

“Okay,” approves Jaime. “Talk to Franz. He’ll give you the number.” 

“Already did,” Brienne says with an apologetic smile. “The appointment’s next week.” 

“Efficient, as usual,” Mr. Lannister approves. “I’m going to leave you to your reading, and see you in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” she appreciates. 

“You’ll let me know what the doctor says?” 

“Of course,” nods Brienne as Jaime walks past her and outside the Library. 

The next morning, they barely exchange two words, however. Jaime prepares Brienne her coffee and inquires about her reading and her jogging, but leaves the terrace all too soon, before she’s finished half her drink. Brienne cannot help but wonder if, to his point of view, she did commit some act of treason or something along those lines last night. Against who, she cannot tell for certain, but she does feel as if she’d committed treason or betrayed someone. 

After one whole day with the kids, that night it’s a full house for dinner: it’s all eleven of them sitting awkwardly at the dining room, Brienne only weathering it through by joining the children’s conversation on whatever subject they’re going on about at the moment. At some point, Mr. Lannister’s cell phone rings, which has kind of become a habit these days--he doesn’t even have it on vibration anymore. 

“Ten cents!” all the kids yell. 

Unfathomable, Mr. Lannister stands from his seat and goes around the table to pass by the ‘phone jar’ by the windows. Holding his cell phone between his ear and shoulder, he drops a coin on the jar before leaving the dining room. By the time he crosses the threshold, he’s already greeting in a scowl whoever it was who called him. 

Arya attempting a yodeling singing and purposefully failing at it brings Brienne back to the table and the dinner. They’re still in two minds about performing a new rendition of ‘The Lonely Goatherd’, so the kids are practicing the yodeling day in and day out, leaving Brienne with a bit of a headache when she needs to impose some discipline. 

“I’ve tried, Tyrion,” Baroness Cersei sighs by the end of the table. Brienne, still trying to get the kids to stop yodeling, or at least to attempt the singing seriously, tunes in for that conversation. She catches the Baroness letting out a deep sigh and then taking her glass of wine. “Don’t you think I have?” 

“I meant no offense,” Tyrion replies almost immediately. 

“Of course, you didn’t,” the Baroness waves the idea off. “And you know I mean well too. If it was just a matter of money, I would have given him my whole fortune already, Tyrion. But you know an extraordinary influx of cash won’t magically solve the situation he’s in.” 

“Unfortunately, I do. I’ve managed to keep away from the Empire as much as possible, but I do know that much,” agrees Tyrion. He raises his glass of wine as in a toast and then gulps it down full, pointing at Franz to hand over the jar of wine. Their eyes meet just a second as Tyrion refills his glass, and Brienne, going as red as the wine itself, pretends she wasn’t eavesdropping by helping Brandon with his steak. 

Later that night, upstairs in her room, instead of picking up her guitar, she takes her cell phone for a quick search. Margaery did debrief her before she even took the first interview, but she wasn’t truly listening. Back then, she wasn’t interested or invested at all in the Lannister family beyond the fact that she’d been hired to take care of the seven children for the holidays, which meant spending the whole summer away from home and Podrick. 

Now, however, things have changed. Albeit there’s no possible future for her and Mr. Lannister--there is no her and Mr. Lannister--she can’t help but feel that she’s been part of the family, and she cares for the kids. She wants to know what the news and tabloids say about the future of the Lannister Empire, which is, the future of those kids she’s come to love. 

In a matter of seconds, she finds the first headlines announcing the end of an era: a battle, or full-out war, between the Lannister Empire and the company Targaryen Incorporated. The same name that man, Herr Zeller, mentioned at the ball. 

She skips through the first paragraphs of the article meant to remind the readers of the Lannister’s history. She knew most of it before taking the job and Margaery filled the remaining gaps afterwards. The Lannister name can be traced back to the mid-eighteenth century and they’ve ruled Salzburg with an iron fist ever since. Simple merchants at the beginning, the original Lannister opened up a shop where he made all sorts of functional furniture for the house. From then to the twenty-first century, the Lannister family has comprised the biggest monopoly on the real estate business in Salzburg and Vienna, rising above competitors because of the quality of their offers--albeit expensive. 

That is, up until now. Targaryen Inc. has been rising like smoke the past few years and, overlooked at its inception, has become a possible threat to the Lannister Empire. The market cries for new blood, and the business created from scratch by a single woman, only in her early twenties, ruthless and yet just and kind in her businesses, seems to be exactly what the public demands. More and more Lannister-associated businesses have accepted the terms of protection and perpetuity offered by Targaryen Inc., whereas some that have remained loyal have declared bankruptcy. All in all, the thousand-years Empire is starting to crumble. 

Her mouth dry after reading the article, Brienne acts against her better judgment and heads for the kitchen for a drink--too late to visit Renly and Loras, she’s afraid. Her mind, barely considering the tea she’ll drink in just a few minutes, returns time and time again to the article and the struggles the Lannister family is facing. Mr. Lannister certainly hasn’t had a lucky streak lately, considering the dishonorable discharged from the military, his wife, being tasked with taking care of seven children all by himself. Now, the one thing that was supposed to be his rock, the steady element in his life, might be in peril. No wonder he’s worried. 

_Am I actually feeling sympathy for that man? _ Brienne ponders in shock as she steps into the kitchen. Standing there, she ponders for a second or two. Yes, that might be it, all in all. She’s feeling sorry for Mr. Lannister. She never thought she’d see the day, she confesses as she gobbles down two full glasses of water. He was born with a silver spoon on his mouth and has more money he could ever spend, not in ten lifetimes. But now Brienne knows different. All he’s worked for, all these years, all those struggles, to ensure a future for his children. . . And poor kids, too. Their future is almost as uncertain as hers--albeit they do have some advantage in her situation. 

Still, another day comes, and with it, also Brienne’s hopes, good humor, and energy. The sun will rise for those kids too if need be, and in the meantime, she can stick around to help out as much as she possibly can. She almost jumps out of the bed to face her jog. When she meets Mr. Lannister at the terrace, she doesn’t join him immediately. 

“Just one second,” she excuses herself, making her way into the kitchen. She knew neither Mia nor Emma would have touched her secret stash of cookies, and so she joins Mr. Lannister able to, for once, return the coffee he’s prepared for her. Despite the fact that it doesn’t truly count as a proper breakfast, Mr. Lannister’s response is warm and effusive as he takes the first one. 

“Where did these come from?” he demands then. 

Brienne chuckles, shaking her head to prove she’ll be keeping that one secret. “I’m not sure you want to know,” she says. They’re from Jorah’s bakery, after all, a small shop Mr. Lannister would never even set eyes on in his own accord. 

“You’re really not going to tell me?” he demands. 

“Suffice to say I did not bake them,” Brienne says, putting all the cards on the table. “They’re from a bakery in Salzburg.” 

“Which wishes to remain anonymous because. . .?” 

“I’ll let you find it yourself,” she replies, shrugging. 

Jaime takes another cookie and holds it between his teeth to have his left hand free--and so he hands her the jar of cookies so Brienne can take the last one. His gentlemanly touch makes her laugh, but she does take that last cookie and leans back on her chair to properly savor it. They’re really good, she can understand why Mr. Lannister wants to know their origin. A couple of minutes later, however, Brienne leaves the terrace and leaves Mr. Lannister with the task of checking every single bakery in Salzburg to find the baker of those cookies. She’s uncertain he’ll go to that much trouble, but oh well, sometimes it’s nice to have a wicked, little dream. 

She stops on her tracks and turns around. “I know it’s not fair since I’m not answering your question, but could I ask you. . .” 

“Anything,” he interjects her, with more vehemence than she’d expected. The way he spoke surprises both Brienne and Jaime, and they stay silent for a few beats. Jaime clears his throat and gives it another try, measuring his words now. “You can ask me anything. Fire away, Miss Tarth.” 

Brienne finishes her cookie before she dares to utter the words. “I was wondering about your neighbors, the Boltons? Especially, their son, Ramsay?” 

At that, Mr. Lannister takes a very deep breath of air, as he turns the page in his newspaper. 

“Why the interest?” he wonders, as weary as Brienne is. 

“I saw him at the ball,” she shrugs. 

“There were lots of people in the ball,” he points out, his voice a little bit sore--he couldn’t possibly still be mad for her leaving that night, could he? “And a lot happened. Why ask about him after all this time?” 

“Like I said, they’re your neighbors. I just thought I should get to know them.” 

Mr. Lannister sighs, folding the newspaper and crossing his arms. 

“In all the years we’ve lived fence to fence, I’ve barely exchange half a dozen words with the kid,” he says, and Brienne knows better than to joke about Mr. Lannister exchanging half a dozen words with his own children too for years. “He’s a strange boy, to say the least. It seems he’s always in trouble, and that’s the last I want to hear from him. 

“I’d rather you kept my children as far away as possible from him, Fräulein.” 

“Of course,” she nods, practically jumping out of her chair. “Have a nice day.” 

Since Arya hasn’t been feeling that good since yesterday, and hence Gendry’s coming down with the same flu or cold that she is, Brienne decides to have a peaceful and quiet day at the house, lest no doctor needs to be called--which is exactly two days after Rickon had finally his arm cast removed, proving that seven children will indeed never cease to give out headache after headache, whatever they do. They go over songs and their puppet shows and twice today they go out for their hour of walking. They’re still working on that one song, the one they’ve titled ‘How d’you solve a problem like Robb’, or Jon, or anyone else, depending on the kid they’re singing about at the moment. Going over everyone’s skills and annoying habits does have the children laughing out loud and roaring on the floor with laughter. 

That night she’d agreed to meet Renly and Loras, but she cancels on them, arguing she’s got important stuff to take care of back in the Mansion--and that was not a lie. She was certain that, after the conversation about Ramsay, Sansa would try to sneak out of the house and meet the boy, and Brienne’s hunch is proven correct about fifteen minutes after she puts the kids to sleep. Apparently, alerting Jon and Robb wasn’t enough to stop Sansa, but then again, Brienne didn’t exactly tell Robb that his sibling needed an extra babysitter. 

“Fräulein!” shrieks Sansa when they meet by the entrance door. “Please, you have to--” 

“Not a word,” Brienne interjects her, and before she does try to complain, she grabs Sansa by the elbow to drag her to her room. “I know you want to see him and talk, but after what your Father and brothers said yesterday, I’m this close to asking you not to see the boy again.” 

“Please, Fräulein, don’t ask me that!” she begs, dropping on the bed. Her heart shattering, Brienne sits by Sansa’s side, pulling her hair to one side. “He’s not what they make him out to be!” 

“Has he ever been unkind to you?” 

“No, he hasn’t! Not once!” shrieks Sansa. _Well, of course, he wouldn’t, _ scowls Brienne. No one shows their true colors right at the beginning of the friendship. No, it would happen much, much later, when it’s too late to figure out what in the world is happening. 

“Can I just ask you to take some time and space?” Brienne asks softly. “I know it’s hard, but soon enough you’ll start school again, and. . .” 

“You want to split us apart!” Sansa accuses. 

“Nothing of that sort,” she replies, handing Sansa a box of tissues. “I’m here to take care of you all, you know that. Given all I’ve heard about Ramsay and whatnot, I’d feel reckless and stupid allowing you to--” 

“You don’t know him! You’ve only seen him once, and you didn’t even speak to him!” 

_She’s got me there, _ sighs Brienne. She’s been trying to teach the kids not to judge the Baroness by her looks alone, nor jump to conclusions without knowing her better first. Now, Sansa’s throwing her lessons back at her. The way she skipped the party, she couldn’t even remember that Ramsay was at the ball. 

“All I’m asking for is a little bit of caution and patience.” 

“No, I can’t! You don’t understand!” 

“Well, I’m here,” sighs Brienne. She leaves the bed to take from the drawer a pack of biscuits, and, through her tears, Sansa laughs. “Help me understand.” 

With the help of the cookies as a bribe, Sansa proceeds to tell her about how she’s having some doubts concerning her relationship with Ramsay. Before Brienne panics, she rushes to explain that he’s ignoring some of her texts and calls and that, after talking to some friends, Sansa seems convinced that Ramsay’s now forgotten all about her and is infatuated by some other silly girl in the neighborhood. She gets through the whole speech thanks to the whole pack of biscuits, for Brienne couldn’t offer any words that could ever comfort her. After all, her love life sucks as well--it seems that Ramsay’s situation is a parallel to Mr. Lannister’s, too, who’s forgotten all about Brienne and has officially announced his engagement to Baroness Schraeder. 

Lying on the bed, Brienne caresses Sansa’s her and back over and over as she settles, her eyes dry already, but still whimpering. 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne whispers. “But maybe some time and space would be beneficial for you to figure out what you both want out of your relationship, don’t you think?” 

“I still think I should talk to him about this.” 

“Not tonight,” forbids Brienne. “You’re too tired and it’s way too late to wander through the woods. Come here and try to sleep. I’ll be here all night if you need me to.” 

This time, Sansa doesn’t refuse Brienne’s suggestions or touch, and just settles a bit more comfortable on the bed. After crying her eyes out, she must be drained--yet it takes her forever to fall asleep. And as for Brienne, with Sansa curled up in her arms, she needs almost another hour before her eyes drop out of exhaustion. 

In the morning, she forces herself to wake up early and change for her jogging session: exercise instead of laziness, plus the reward of the coffee afterwards, will prove more successful against her hangover. She feels better knowing Sansa got a full night’s sleep. 

Upon her return to the Mansion, Mr. Lannister’s there today as well, two coffee mugs on the table. She stops to catch her breath, leaning on her knees. When she takes her coffee, part of her wonders what could he possibly have in store today, for he’s pretending to read the newspaper he’s clearly not very interested in--she can feel his stare over her every few seconds, making her feel so damned conscious and uncomfortable as she stretches. She yearns to go inside and hide in her chambers, but she’s too tired to move, and eventually, sits down at the table, across from Jaime, her eyes glued on the landscape in front of her. 

It’s been now a whole week since she returned. Try as she might, she cannot tell how on Earth have they all survived the past week. Mr. Lannister’s been working almost non-stop every day, except for their morning coffees. She’s barely exchanged two words with the Baroness. It feels like the kids are judging and blaming her for something she’s got no saying in whatsoever and can’t possibly fix, not with all the music in the world. The only person in the family who treats her exactly the same as he did before is uncle Tyrion. 

Sighing deeply, Brienne wonders how in the name of the Forgotten Gods will this family survive even another week without the whole house of cards collapsing before their eyes. They won’t last the summer, she fears. And here she thought she came back to make things easier on this poor family, on Mr. Lannister and the kids. It just seems she can’t get anything right, these days. She simply cannot tell anymore if the family will be better off with her or without her presence here. 

“So,” says Mr. Lannister suddenly, an energy Brienne feels nowhere close to. He folds the newspaper in half and lays it on the side, leaning forward towards her. _What does he have in mind, I pray?_ Brienne fears. He looks way too happy for her taste. “Are you too tired?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jaime's POV !!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this one is from Jaime's POV !  
This chapter starts a few days after Brienne's vanishing during the ball, it spans during her absence, her return, and it finishes exactly where ch. 19 ended.  
Hope you like it !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks and credit for this chapter to writer @Shamelessly_Radiant, and their work _"A moonbeam in your hand"_!!!

“I thought you’d told me you’d fix this.” 

“And so I did. I talked to Jakob and he promised he’d take care of everything.” 

“Well, it’s obvious that he didn’t!” explodes Tywin. His outburst makes Jaime jump and leans back on his chair to be a bit farther away from his Father's anger. He’s lucky Tywin’s in Vienna right now, or they’d be having this conversation face to face, and Jaime wouldn’t finish this conversation unscathed. “Talk to him again. Chop his head off, fire him. Do what you have to do to fix this!” 

“Yes, Father,” Jaime nods to a line that has already been cut. 

Groaning, he pushes himself away from the desk and stands, rubbing his hair. Things are not going well, things are mediocre at best, and have been for the past few months. Lately, not even Tywin’s warnings or threats have been able to do the job, and that’s only a praise for Targaryen Inc. Anyone who, after Tywin put the fear of God into their system, still refuses to act on it and leaves them for Targaryen Inc. does reserve some kind of compensation or reward. Jaime himself has been many times on the receiving end of Tywin’s glare and menaces and couldn’t find it in him the strength or courage to refuse.

On second thought, it would be in handy if he could live up to his father's standards, if he could manhandle and dismiss people the way Tywin has always been able to do. They cannot let any other client leave them, much less to join a freaking competitor. If they don’t take immediate action, they’re going to lose everything, and the Lannister empire will only be a short mention in the history books--there’ll be nothing left. All his hard work, his early and late hours, him not knowing his children, will have been useless. His children will have nothing.

He hears a guitar playing and peeks outside the window. He smiles when he sees the children down at the terrace, ready to sing to uncle Tyrion and Cersei. Jaime himself holds his breath, expectant as well, hopeful. Music did so much for the kids and for the family, maybe this time will be a problem-solver too. . . 

  
_The hills are alive_  
_With the sound of music_  
_With songs they have sung_  
_For a thousand years. _  
_The hills fill my heart _  
_With the sound of music. . ._  


At the first line, Jaime lets out all his air, hitting his head against the windows. They sound so blue, so uninterested in the song. They lack energy and stamina and joy to do much of anything, these days. No pranking, no riding, no games, much less any homework. They sing so soullessly, halfhearted, even with the accompany of Sansa’s guitar, that it almost depresses Jaime, too. 

Their rendition to ‘The hills are alive’ lasts for a total of four lines. Gendry’s the first one to give up on the song, breaking the formation and resting on the veranda to look out to the gardens and the lake. Rickon joins him, and soon enough, Sansa stops playing, which puts a final end to the song. The enchantment broken, everyone’s voices fade away within seconds and they scatter around the terrace, to the dismay of Cersei and uncle Tyrion. 

Up in the study, Jaime also shakes his head and takes in a sharp breath. Things haven’t gotten any better, two weeks in. With Miss Tarth there was joy, music, laughter, and games. The kids spent whole days outdoors, had fun, prepared puppet shows, and were happy. 

Without Miss Tarth. . . Well, Jaime’s lucky whenever he can get half a dozen words from his children. They keep to themselves and spend their days performing varying hobbies that they don’t seem to enjoy at all. Robb and Jon just spend hours on end staring at their chessboard without moving a piece. Brandon’s paintings--which Jaime was shocked to hear about in the first place--don’t sparkle joy anymore. Whenever Sansa reads to her younger siblings, she does so with a cold and monotonous voice that would put Jaime himself to sleep, and he’s coped with the most tedious of meetings in his adult life.

It’s just not the same anymore. She changed the whole house upside down and it seems the house cannot go on without her, but refuses to go back to the state things were before her. Jaime himself forbids so.

He tried contacting her, of course. This time the children didn’t have to beg--he realized she was gone thirty minutes after she’d gone upstairs to change. Even when he was dancing and drinking champagne with Cersei, greeting old friends, joking with Tyrion, he did remark on her absence about fifteen minutes after Cersei got downstairs. No one else noticed her absence, he had to send Frau Schmidt upstairs just because he simply couldn’t disappear from the ball. But he wanted to stop the music, check the whole house, send everyone away, go after Miss Tarth and make her come back, to have one last dance, to spend the whole night together. . . None of the options were feasible, of course, much less with Cersei hanging onto his arm all the time. He had to excuse himself and go to the privacy of the kitchen to text Brienne. He soon realized his messages weren’t going through and that she’d blocked him. He tried calling as well, to no results. It was the first time someone, anyone, had refused to speak to him and it shocked him to the core--certainly makes sense that it was Miss Tarth, of all people. He just had to return to the ball as if nothing had happened, pretend in front of Cersei, Tyrion, and the hundreds of guests, move on with dinner and the remaining of the party, which stretched for hours on end. He didn’t understand her reasons, he still doesn’t, but he could understand Miss Tarth not wishing him to go after her. And he just couldn’t disappear into the night, either. 

He still can’t, really. He’s tried spending as much time as possible with Cersei, trying to set himself straight after what had transpired between him and Brienne--although nothing had happened, truly, between the two of them. One song, one dance, a few stolen glances across the room, some lame-ass jokes she never enjoyed, and the miracle she performed of reconnecting him with his children: that’s all they ever had in common. That’s all it took for him to fall head over heels over a governess, a woman he didn’t care much for at the beginning. It’s more than what he currently has with Cersei, can’t possibly deny that, but his mind and engagement go to Cersei, not Brienne, and that’s the end of it. 

To some degree, Jaime realizes he’s just lying to himself. He’s tried calling her every day since but Brienne refuses to pick it up, and he refuses to insist by finding out her address and landline, calling her at home or visiting her in Vienna.

It just wouldn’t do, wouldn’t be correct. He had to pretend that Miss Tarth leaving meant nothing. After all, she was supposed to leave when the contract finished. He is to marry Cersei, not to worry about another woman altogether whose acquaintance had an expiration date to begin with. In spite of the children missing her terribly day after day, despite them not believing the few lines she’d scribbled down on that farewell note, saying she missed home too much and couldn’t stay away no longer, even though he doesn’t believe those any more than the children do. Even though nothing’s right anymore at the house, he needs to pretend, day after day, that it’s all okay. 

“Seven help me,” he scowls under his breath. That’s the hardest part, he can confess in the solitary darkness of the study. The pretense. Pretending he is not hurt after Miss Tarth’s absence, pretending he doesn’t miss a simple commoner governess, pretending all is well in the world upon her departure and his impending marriage to Cersei. He was never that good of a liar, or an actor. Heck, he misses her too, but he just can’t act on it. 

Down there, Cersei raises her head and catches his eye. Jaime plasters a smile on his lips and waves at her with his good hand, asking for five minutes before he meets them downstairs. He needs to send a very important email to Jakob.

When he meets his family downstairs, he finds out the ten minutes he needed to write that irate email weren’t sufficient to cheer him up, nor the children. The mood hasn’t improved at all, in spite of Tyrion’s suggestion to go to the theatre in the evening, as the kids are scattered around the terrace with gloomy faces and nothing interesting enough to do. Jaime sits by Cersei’s side, kissing her hand. He rests his right hand on her chair, without never touching Cersei--out of respect for the kids and also Cersei’s disgust to being touched with the prosthetic. 

“Father?” Gendry asks as he finishes his drink. All the kids, sitting where they were, look up, which is something, he guesses, them showing interest in the conversation. 

“Yes, Gendry?” 

“Who is our new governess going to be?” 

Well, concerning the governesses subject, at least they’ve stopped inquiring about Miss Tarth whatsoever--it took them days to quit wondering why she left without saying goodbye. At least there’s some improvement there. 

Cersei reaches her hand to caress her arm warmly. He forces a smile too. This was the window they were expecting. 

“Well,” he starts, and then looks back over to the children. “You are not going to have a governess anymore.” 

“We’re not?” shrieks Arya. Brandon, Rickon, Gendry and Arya slowly stand from their spots and come closer to the table, intrigued. All their lives they’ve been taken care of by governesses, and the news shock their cores. As per Jon, Robb, and Sansa, they do not move at all, instead, they look as if they wanted to fly away. They might have guessed where this conversation is headed already. 

“No,” confirms Jaime. “You’re going to have a new mother.” 

“A new mother?” shrieks Brandon. 

Pretending not to notice his children’s shock, Jaime leaves his seat and stands behind Cersei, resting both his hands on her shoulders. She stays there proud, head held high, smiling warmly, as the message is delivered, loud and clear--confirming Sansa, Jon and Robb’s suspicions, as they approach with heavy steps. 

“We talked about it last night. It’s all settled,” nods Jaime. “And we’re all going to be very happy.” 

The lack of response does unsettle him a bit. He hadn’t truly expected a burst of joy, not even a burst of singing, which might have been Miss Tarth’s way of celebrating the news, but he’d expected something, at the very least. The kids just stand there with frowns of confusion, exchanging awkward looks amongst themselves, when Jaime most needed them to open up and be honest about their feelings. 

Sansa’s the one to save the day, stepping forward to give Cersei a delicate--hesitant, maybe--kiss on the cheek. Everyone else falls in line, but it’s forced and awkward, quite the opposite of what Jaime had wished. 

How could he believe that announcing Baroness Cersei will be their new mother would cheer them up at all? Of course, it doesn’t. So, he sends them off to play as not to see the disappointment and the hurt, perhaps the hatred even, in their eyes. The wise thing to do would have been talking it out with the children beforehand, without Cersei there, giving them a chance to speak their minds and hearts, see what they thought about Cersei and about him marrying again. They’re still mourning Fräulein Tarth’s absence, which he’s learned to understand, they’re still mourning the absence of a mother figure. After all, Robb, Jon, and Sansa, and maybe Arya too, still remember their mother. They never talk about her, though, and now all traces of her being will be replaced with Cersei. Is that. . . Right? 

_Am I screwing up every decision I’ve made for the past years, since Elsa died? _ he can’t help but wonder again in fear, as he sits down by Cersei’s side again and dares to pour himself a glass of the lemonade. He wishes the beverage was as alcoholic as it is pink. 

All his doubts nag him for the rest of the evening, especially at dinner, when the children barely say a word, nor raise their heads from the food on their plates. Guilt eats him alive all throughout dinner, and he drinks an absurd amount of wine. Cersei tries to make it up to him later in bed. Her reward for Jaime finally making the choice to break the news to the children is to take him whole into her mouth to get him off first tonight. 

“You look sad,” complains Cersei when she’s managed her goal after some very long, uncomfortable, and awkward minutes. She rests by his side--his left side--and leaves a trail of kisses on his chin and cheeks, purposefully letting her breasts lean against his chest. “Why do you look sad?” 

There are possibly half a dozen responses he could give that wouldn’t land him in trouble, but there’s only one honest answer. “The kids,” he sighs in the end. 

“They didn’t complain or argue,” she points out, tilting his chin to meet his lips. 

_They wouldn’t dare, _Miss Tarth’s voice echoes in Jaime’s mind and, for the first time, he ponders if that was true. Would they speak up if he gave them the chance? Could Jaime listen to and accept their point of view, if they dared speaking up? Or would the whole house of cards they’ve built with painstaking slow and strife crumble down if they did? Could any of the people involved live through it in that case? 

Dammit, this whole thing with the children would be a lot easier if Miss Tarth was still around, Jaime wants to scowl. But then he gasps when Cersei playfully nibs on his nipple, and he realizes that these days he spends every waking minute worrying: worrying over the Lannister Empire, worrying over the kids, and worrying over Miss Tarth. So, where does that leave Cersei? No place simple to understand and explain, he’s afraid. 

Well, at the current moment, Cersei’s hand is drifting over back to his shaft, her lips and tongue are working on his right nipple, and her free hand is pulling on his hair to keep him quiet. That’s not what he meant, but his brain finds itself unable to concentrate on the original question. 

Next morning, per usual, he wakes up earlier than Cersei. He draws the curtains to let her get some more sleep, free of any commitments to worry about. He takes a shower and changes in the adjacent bathroom, and descends to the kitchen for his morning coffee. He settles on the terrace desk to read the newspapers, his usual special interest in the business section. 

As the coffee volume lowers and he finishes reading the papers, he finds himself checking the hour and the gardens, almost waiting for someone he knows he will not see again. He’d gotten used to welcoming Miss Tarth after her morning jog. Her red face and ragged breathing after the run, and yet satisfied. Seeing her flustered whenever he wished her good morning, offering her the first cup of coffee, albeit he could see he had a hard time guessing the correct amount of milk and sugar that she takes. It was becoming kind of a routine between them. . . Something else she took away. 

Instead, he now finishes his coffee, returns the mug to the kitchen and takes the mail under his arm. Headed for the study where he’ll continue his work for a few more hours, at the very least. After returning from Vienna he made it a point to spend less time in the office, both for Cersei and his children’s sake. With Miss Tarth gone, he tries to honor that agreement still, but he’s kind of missing the point of doing so. He wanted to spend time with his children, so they would get to know him and he them, but nowadays they seem as eager as they used to be at the prospect of spending time with him. Once more, he’s spending too much time with Cersei, and to some degree, it all feels wrong. 

He stops, leaning his head to one side. Has a bird found his way into the house, or is it trapped somewhere. . .? He can swear he heard a chirping or twitting. 

The sound gone now, it’s difficult to pinpoint where it came from exactly--it was so soft to begin with. . . Still, Jaime checks the first door to his right, in case it wasn’t a product of his imagination. But the windows are properly closed and there are no bird nests inside, which he already thought of highly improbable. Brushing it off, he shuts the door and goes to his study. 

There is something out of place in the study, however: the windows to the balcony are open and Jon’s standing there, leaning on the veranda, as if ready to jump from a second-story balcony. He was mouthing to someone by the entrance of the study and Jaime looks behind the door to find Robb there. Out in the hallway, the floor creaks, as someone just happens to step on the spot Jaime knows to avoid. 

He sighs deeply, closing his eyes, and turns just in time to find Sansa trying to slip away.

“Alright, will everyone come out and step into the study, please?” he demands, raising his voice to make sure every last one of his kids hiding nearby can hear him. There was no bird locked up somewhere--that was Arya, he reckons.

He returns to the study, waving at Jon to approach the desk instead of jumping out of the window, and sits behind his desk. Dropping the newspaper to the side, he turns on the computer just as he finds Gendry hiding in the darkness of the corner. 

In under thirty seconds, all his seven children have entered the study. Jaime sighs and refrains from yelling or telling anyone off for the time being, at the very least until he knows what they were doing up here so early in the morning. 

Something else he learned from Brienne, he reckons. Not to get angry out of the blue, giving the children time and space to talk things out without him intimidating them all. Talking to them like the adults some of them nearly are, giving them the chance to explain themselves--and only then, if necessary, tell them off. Turns out they don’t give him reasons to get angry nearly as often as they used to. 

They are standing tall on the other side of the desk, shoulders back, elbows straight, the way he taught them to walk and move. He’s as nervous as they seem to be; after all, he’s got no idea how to face this conversation. Miss Tarth would probably have an idea or two, he reckons, but she’s not here anymore, he is. He does know yelling and getting angry won’t help to get an honest answer out of them, however, it’ll just make them shut down completely. 

“Now, it’s not like my children to be secretive,” he starts, sterner than he’d meant. 

Hadn’t he been so nervous to start with, Jaime would have noticed Robb hiding a folder behind his back. Jaime frowns, clicks his tongue and raises his left hand--Bran sometimes still shivers whenever he sees the stump on his right arm. 

“What do we have there?” he asks. 

Robb gives in without much of a fight, surrendering the folder despite Bran, Gendry, and Rickon did try to talk him out of it. Jaime nods at his son’s cooperation and compliance, thanking that they’ve taken it easy on him for once. 

Instead, he opens the folder. . . And freezes, without thoughts or words coming up to his brain at all. Of all the possible reasons why his children would try to sneak into his study and smuggle a folder out. . . Although it does make sense, he supposes. They all know he’s got reports on every governess he’s hired, and they must be dying to contact Miss Tarth again--maybe just as much as he is. Can he truly blame them? 

Jaime shuts his eyes and closes the folder, dropping it over the newspaper he disregarded earlier. He leans back on his chair, eyeing his children’s actions with different eyes now, running his hand through his hair. 

“You could have asked,” he points out, unable to come up with anything more interesting. But he knows why they didn’t. He knows it and understands their reasons. He also accepts them keeping quiet--appreciates it before they respond with a snide remark he could have no patience for right now. “I know where this is coming from. . .” 

“We just want to talk to her,” complains Bran. 

“She didn’t even say goodbye,” adds Rickon. 

“We wanted to hear her voice again,” says Arya, sheepish voice. 

“Is that so wrong?” presses Sansa. 

_No, of course not. I also want to talk to her, _ Jaime almost slips, but manages to bite his lower lip before any of those words come out of his mouth. However, he cannot chastise his children for doing something he wanted to do as well. 

“She said goodbye in her note,” he says, for what it seems to be the millionth time since Miss Tarth’s sudden departure. “She said she was sorry, but she missed her life in Vienna too much and she needed to go back. That’s the end of it.” 

From Brandon to Robb, his answer and Miss Tarth’s brief note don’t satisfy them at all, not by a very long shot. They all look so blue that it aches him. They truly do miss her, maybe more than Jaime himself--even though he misses her much more than he could ever confess. Her company, her jokes, her defiance, her laughter, and, above all of that, her music. Yes, nothing’s been the same since she left. 

“I did try contacting her,” Jaime says, to the astonishment of all. Mouths open, they all look back at him in disbelief and Jaime almost needs to roll his eyes at that. He usually doesn’t joke. “She didn’t pick up.” 

“Would she, if it was us?” asks Jon. 

Jaime shrugs, raising his arms. “I cannot speak for her. You’ll have to find out for yourselves.” 

“So, would you mind if we--”

“Listen, I have work to do,” Jaime interjects, unable to give an answer to Sansa’s question. He’d be in big trouble if he answered honestly, and would be eternally damned if he lied to his children now. Some part of him wants to order the kids to call her right now, another wants them to leave Miss Tarth be. 

They understand the dismissal and, heads dropped, they file out of the desk. Jaime almost calls them all back to apologize--it couldn’t possibly be a sign of weakness if he’s truly in the wrong concerning his children--but he does not know how to proceed, nor how that conversation would unfold in the end. Remorse strikes when Robb, the seventh in line, has one foot out of the door. 

“Robb,” he calls him out. 

The boy turns around with something in his eyes that resembles very much hatred. Jaime needs to look down on his papers and take a deep breath to fight through it. 

“Take care of that, will you?” he asks, pointing at the folder. 

For some seconds, Robb doesn’t move. Jaime drops his pen and sees shock now in Robb’s eyes, which hurts him just as much as their unhappiness and hatred hurt him a minute ago, but doesn’t let it show. Jaime just takes the folder in question and holds it out for Robb to take. He does, after a beat. The others are peeking from the open door, disbelieving his actions. 

“Good luck,” he whispers right before Robb leaves. 

As much as Jaime hates it, the conversation remains a secret between him and the children--making another connection between him and Miss Tarth and whatever secret she was holding with the children. All throughout the day, Jaime keeps an eye on the seven children and they do not give him any clue at all concerning if they managed to talk to Miss Tarth or not. They just look as forlorn as usual, and refuse to sing when he or Tyrion suggest that they do. 

Over the next few days, no one mentions it at all either. True, Cersei’s never too far away from him, and the children seem to be sensible enough not to bring that subject up in front of her, but still--they could find the time. They did wake up early on a holiday to barge into his study and rummage through his files. If they’d succeeded, only one of them needed to wake up early to deliver the news. 

Given their silence and the lack of news, after three or four days, Jaime starts giving up hope and accepts the facts. They didn’t get through Miss Tarth. She is staying in Vienna and she’s not coming back. That’s the bottom line. He’s got enough problems as it is to go after a freaking governess that’d stay for only a few more weeks after all. 

That notwithstanding, five days after his brief and awkward conversation with the children, Jaime finds himself at the front terrace having tea with Cersei, after spending the whole day in Salzburg, following Cersei around for her wedding dress. At some point, he had to leave her to her own devices and check with the office, because it was becoming too much, and she couldn’t decide between dozens of very similar dresses. 

Now, out here at the terrace, they’re still going on and on about the details of the wedding--or, well, Cersei is--when they hear a rattle from the back terrace. It can only be the children. The ‘old Jaime’ strikes in, his first thought being that of demanding a little bit of silence, but then he stops to think: what could have possibly prompted them to cause such a ruckus, out of the blue? They’ve been acting like dead people living on Earth for days now, quietly following Jaime’s instructions whenever he told them to tackle homework or go outside for their walk, and showing barely any interest in going out with their uncle. 

As he dashes through the Mansion, Cersei struggling behind with her long dress and high heels, the children’s singing raises as well. 

  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  
_When the dog bites, when the bee stings _  
_When I'm feeling sad, _  
_I simply remember my favorite things _  
_And then I don’t feel so bad! _  


They haven’t sung in two weeks--he knows the date exactly, the same night he danced with Brienne. They haven’t cracked a joke and have barely laughed since Miss Tarth left. They now sound so joyful, exuding happiness from every word. Does he dare to believe, to hope...? 

“Father!” they all yell when he comes out to the terrace. 

“Father, look!” 

“Fräulein Brienne’s back!” 

“She’s returned from Vienna!” 

Doesn’t matter how many times they repeat those words, Jaime can still barely believe it, believe his eyes. The children wouldn’t play such a joke on him, certainly--or so he hopes. Their joy is genuine, so it must mean that Miss Tarth is truly back, truly standing right there on the grounds once more. It isn’t a mass hallucination, although Jaime would have bet his left hand that it was. Out of air, he cannot truly believe that freckled woman, who always towers over him, who keeps apologizing for things she never does wrong, the one woman who managed to connect with his children in years, is truly back to Salzburg. 

Alas, as surprised and shocked as he is for this impromptu return, Miss Tarth doesn’t look so satisfied and pleased with it either. For some seconds, they all stand there, seven children, two adults, without knowing what to say or do. 

Politeness, per usual, strikes Miss Tarth first and she says formally: 

“Good evening, Mr. Lannister.” 

_We’d agreed you’d call me Jaime, _ he wants to correct her, but the words don’t come out. 

“Alright, dinner will be served in ten,” announces Jaime. There are one too many people out here for his taste. 

Cheering in celebration, just as he’d hoped for, the children run inside--taking Miss Tarth’s bag and her guitar with them. So she at least came to stay, or so the children seem to believe, Jaime observes, and a beacon of hope shines through his wasted heart. By then, Miss Tarth has approached, but doesn’t dare to come closer than a ten-feet distance. 

“You left without saying goodbye,” Jaime remarks--reproaching her actions, when he truly didn’t mean to. “Even the children.” _Even me. After our dance. . . Why did she leave me?_

“It was wrong of me. Forgive me,” begs Miss Tarth, apologizing again when she’s got no reason to. He’s the one who should be apologizing for not going to look for her and bring her back, or at least demand a more elaborate answer than a few scribbled lines. Or apologize for the wrong way he handled the conversation they had over a few texts, which just led her to block his number. One more thing he can add to the list of screwed-up things he’s done, only in the past couple of weeks. 

“Why did you?” 

“Please don’t ask me that,” begs Brienne, even if it’s the one question Jaime needed answered the most. “Anyway, the reason no longer exists.” 

He’s about to ask something else--possibly inappropriate given the place and the people within hearing range--but then he feels a hand on his arm, his left arm of course, and bites back those words back. No chance of asking if she’s felt as confused as he has from that ball, if that was the reason for her leaving, if there’s any remaining hope for them still. If he’s broken every oath he ever took beyond repair or if there’s anything within his prowess to fix all the things he messed up, with her, the children, everything. 

But then, Cersei plasters a smile on her lips in time, albeit she looks otherwise as shocked as he is to see Miss Tarth again. 

“Fräulein Brienne, you’ve returned! Isn’t it wonderful, Jaime?” she asks. 

_Absolutely wonderful, yes, _ Jaime agrees, although, by the look on her face, that wouldn’t be the adjective Miss Tarth would have chosen. He’s not certain he would have, either. Alas, it would seem Cersei’s lying through her teeth, too. Has everyone in the vicinity forgotten about honesty and speaking their minds? Is this how it’s going to be around here for now on? Is this what Fräulein Brienne has returned for? Doesn’t feel like such a good idea, now. 

“I wish you every happiness, Baroness,” says Brienne. Even though her tone exudes pretty much everything but happiness, she still complies with common courtesy. She’s always been better at lying than him, and Cersei also. Is he the only one who can see through the theatre masks they’re all wearing? “And you too, Mr. Lannister. The children say you’re to marry.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” says Cersei, speaking with genuine feeling for one amongst all the grown-ups present. 

Miss Tarth climbs up the stairs and walks by he and Cersei, head dropped to avoid their eyes, but Jaime cannot let her go, he needs confirmation. All he needs is one last word from her, a monosyllable, and cannot stop himself. 

“You _are_ back to stay?” he asks. 

Brienne spins around and answers without pondering for a second. 

“Only until arrangements can be made for another governess,” she says, leaving the terrace before Jaime or Cersei can explain. 

After Miss Tarth steps into the mansion, silence lingers in the terrace. Only when Cersei’s hand reaches out for his arm, squeezing him tightly, does Jaime realize he’d been smiling non-stop and looking at the spot Miss Tarth disappeared through. Full of doubts, but relieved and happy to have Brienne back. He knows as best as Cersei that lately he hadn’t been able to look up either and could barely muster a smile for her or the children. 

Cersei, arm in arm, starts walking towards the house. “Maybe her staying until the wedding is positive, darling,” says she--always searching for the silver lining. “It’ll be good for the kids.” 

Jaime pats her hand reassuringly but is unable to find his voice to confirm--or maybe deny--her words. He does stop just before they reach the mansion to kiss her tenderly on the lips. Cersei holds him tighter for a second too long and he pulls away, using the children as an excuse, even if they’re at the other end of the mansion. 

As they make their way downstairs to the dining room, Cersei picks up their earlier conversation about their wedding. Unable to put in a single word, Jaime can’t help but wonder how long will this whole situation take to blow up. He’s been waiting for the children to throw a tantrum the likes he’s never seen before and maybe they’ve defused that one problem thanks, again, to Miss Tarth. . . But there are just so many more open fronts on this war. 

The answer is a whole week, which, he must confess, is longer a time he’d expected. 

Of course, a week is more than enough time for Brienne to make things right--again. Once more, she manages to bring music and laughter into the house. Within days, Jaime’s beaming at the children behaving and acting just like what they all had gotten used to. Hearing them bickering, fighting, laughing, singing, is just delightful for a father who’d been forced to muddle through a two-week period depression from his seven children. Now it’s back to them enjoying simple activities like going out on their walks, riding, rowing, going up to the mountains, or simply spending an afternoon in Salzburg at a play or something. It’s a whole week of laughter, puppet shows, of well-meaning and innocent pranks, of music filling the house. Not only Tyrion or Jaime can’t find a reason to complain concerning the permanent fuss at the Manor now, but they also join in now and then, and Jaime’s back to his good old humor, dropping jokes at every opportunity. 

“I’ve been reading a suspense novel in Braille… Something bad is about to happen, I can feel it.”

“A man is washing the car with his son, and at some point, the son asks: ‘Dad, can’t you just use a sponge?’” 

“Did you guys know, if you’re ever pulled over by the police and they ask for your papers, you get a free card if you yell ‘scissors’ and be on your way?” 

He just can’t help himself, even with knowing how much Cersei hates his jokes. He beams every time his children scoff, complain, roll their eyes at him, and need to get away from him for a while, all with good-hearted smiles. He even makes Miss Tarth crack a smile now and then, so it’s all worth it. 

It’s seven whole days of work, of arguing with Tywin, of standing Tyrion’s lame jokes and not to subtle innuendos. Everything returns to normal. It does shed a small beacon of hope seeing Miss Tarth early in the morning returning from her job, seeing that she’s not avoiding him completely after their awkward reunion. All their habits return, which include their early morning conversations over coffee, now that Jaime overcame his embarrassment and finally asked the cooks about how Miss Tarth takes her coffee exactly. It’s the five to ten minute morning pit stop to recharge his batteries and fully be able and prepared for the day ahead, a day of long meetings and discussions at work and then longer discussions at home with Cersei. Meeting Brienne is enough to lift his spirits, to plaster a broad smile on his lips that’ll last for at least half an hour, until the day’s bad news start piling up on the inbox or the phone call log. He needs to spend a whole day tackling all those impending fires and then it’s time to start all over again, but he somehow muddles through thanks to those small conversations with Brienne. 

Seeing her satisfied after her jog, more and more at ease and comfortable around him with each passing day, even though she still doesn’t seem to understand her place around the Manor and how valuable she is to the whole damn house. The sole fact that she refuses to call him Jaime, a milestone they’d reached well before she left at that ball, just pisses him off, as if she wanted to remind them both that she’s here in a governess capacity, nothing else. Of course, Jaime cannot ask her to stay in any other capacity. He’s not entirely sure there’s any other capacity possible right now, but he must make her understand that she’s not only a ‘simple’ governess--it also annoyed him to incredible ends the day she said she was ‘simple’ like an open book, without any hidden talents. How does she manage to bring herself down so much, he can’t comprehend so for his life. She’s fixed him, she’s stitched this whole family back together with her joy and music, and that is short of a miracle. 

Jaime’s goal is, for the moment, to try letting her know all she’s done for them. That she’s not a simple governess taking care of his children, although what she is truly, no one can tell. But on those mornings, he presents her with small tokens of genuine appreciation, such as proper riding clothes, or the paycheck for the children’s clothes that was long overdue. It’s a feeble and useless attempt to let her know that he appreciates all she’s done for the whole family, and to thank her for coming back, and to thank her for the way she is. . . Things that are impossible to convey through such mediocre presents all she means for the family, and for him personally, already. 

There was also an impromptu encounter with Miss Tarth at the Library, late at night. He’d been ready and prepared for the early morning visits, looking forward to them every day when he wakes up, actually, but that was about it--that was all he could allow happening, all the time he could grant Brienne, for appearance’s sake. 

But then, one afternoon, he’d settled to work down at the Library. Not the most comfortable place to work out of the whole house, considering his own bedroom and study, but it was just a little bit more of pretense--from the Library he could hear the children practicing their singing for an upcoming puppet show they’ve been preparing with Miss Tarth. He’d missed their joy and their singing so much, he’s yearning to hearing them at every opportunity, and he knows they’d just stop their practices or go somewhere else if he’d stopped by whatever room they were. So, he’d settled at the Library, and failed at catching up with work. 

However, he hadn’t expected to fall asleep and miss dinner, and not in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d wake up to Miss Tarth being there at the Library. The poor woman was just looking for a place to read that Dostoyevski novel she seemed unable to finish, and instead, she’d gone ahead and taken care of him as well: she’d collected his paperwork, set aside his drink. The way she looked at him. . . It made it hard to breathe for a minute, and Jaime thanked the dim light that prevented Miss Tarth from seeing him blush awkwardly. She’d caught him at a disadvantage, asleep, and without knowing what to say. She once more saved the day by bringing up the children, he praised her efficiency and left the room as soon as humanly possible, before he said something out of line. But the way she seemed to care about him, and also about the children, has stayed with him. 

And finally, yes. . . It’s also been a whole week of pretending with Cersei. In the bedroom, at every meal, during their walks, in the planning of the wedding and their future together. 

That night, seven days from miss Tarth’s return, after dinner, he finds himself alone in the second-floor balcony. Now that things with the children are improving, thanks no doubt to Miss Tarth’s presence back in the house, work’s just gotten a whole lot worse with the loss of another client, and it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

Down there, the front door opens and he sees it’s Miss Tarth, wearing that beautiful blue dress she wore that afternoon of the puppet show, when he sang with her, to her, and couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She wanders through the grounds in the darkness, no clear goal on sight, and he wishes he could yell or jump out the balcony and go after her to ask her about her struggles and worries. See if, at all possible, they share similar struggles, worries, feelings. Right then, Jaime realizes that the one person he wants to vent out all his work’s and life’s problems to is not the woman standing right there beside him.

Brienne’s talking on the phone with someone, actually, unaware that her voice travels miles in the silence of the quiet night, reaching him up here at the second-floor terrace. 

“No, I’ll be home soon, Pod. I returned because this job was so important for all of us, but I’ll be back in Vienna before your classes start.” 

For way too many reasons, Jaime cannot listen to that conversation a minute longer. He thanks Brienne for wrapping up the phone call soon after, instants before he goes into cardiac arrest or something. Who the hell is Pod? And is Brienne leaving them again soon? 

They should sit down, of course. They haven’t yet discussed Brienne’s new employment contract, even. But, how could they? How would that conversation unfold? Brienne would only insist that she’s staying until a new governess can be hired, and she’d pressure him into searching and finding one as soon as possible. Whereas Jaime’s response would be that he’s got no intention of hiring another governess, and he couldn’t allow Brienne to leave at all. Whoever Podrick is, he’s sure they can come to terms--Brienne never gave any indications that he had a husband or a partner back home, after all. Having that conversation ending with him begging Brienne to stay here in Salzburg forever is unfathomable and impossible. It simply cannot happen. 

_Why can’t it, though?_ he ponders. 

He realizes at that moment that he cannot endure this situation any longer. He’s hurting so many people, himself included, but most especially, Brienne and Cersei, and he cannot do that to either one of them for another day. The two of them are way too special to keep lying and pretending and hiding things from them. He needs to be brave and put a stop to it, make the first correct decision he’s done ever since hiring Brienne--and deciding not to fire her on his return from Vienna. 

“There you are,” says Cersei. She comes out of the bedroom and stands by his side, caressing his arm. 

Jaime leans on the veranda and smiles at Cersei, just as Miss Tarth disappears amongst some trees, through the darkness, and Jaime finds himself worrying that she shouldn’t be out there alone, without a jacket. His mind is far away, concerned about a woman who’s not the one that’s standing right here with him talking. If he needed any further proof, there it is. 

“I must speak to the cooks about that schnitzel,” sighs Cersei, completely unaware of his thoughts. “It is entirely too delicious for my figure. And it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table. 

“Or was it the wine?”

“Oh, undoubtedly the wine,” promises Jaime, forcing his brain to start working and check the dictionary for words, any words at all. 

“You really have no idea the trouble I’m having trying to decide on a wedding present for you,” she keeps going. “Oh, I know. I’m enough,” she jokes, trying to coax a joke out of him, but all Jaime manages is to smile. “But I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first, I thought of a fountain pen, but you’ve already got one. Then I thought perhaps a villa in the south of France, but they are so difficult to gift-wrap. 

“Oh, Jaime, how do you feel about yachts?” she asks when he doesn’t intervene at all in the conversation. “A long, sleek one for the Mediterranean. . . Or a tiny one for your bathtub, huh?” 

“Cersei,” he begs, closing his eyes. She simply doesn’t listen. 

“And where to go on our honeymoon? Now, that's a real problem. A trip around the world would be lovely. And then I said: ‘Oh, there must be someplace better to go.’ But don’t worry, darling, I’ll--” 

“Cersei,” he repeats, louder this time, to snap her out of it. She finally stops to catch her breath and looks at him in the eye. The way her breath catches, the sparkle in her eyes, she must see where he’s going. 

“Yes?”

“It’s no use. You and I. . .” he sighs in the end, uttering with dismay the words he’d been holding in for so damned long. 

Cersei is everything he aspired to, everything he thought he needed. She’s grace, elegance, beauty, charming, glamorous. Fits perfectly into the family’s standards, she’s a woman his father would certainly approve of, even more than Elsa. She is still, in a way, his savior: she pulled him out of his misery, out of his darkness, helped him see the light of the sun again. 

It was not love, however. Affection, appreciation, devotion, and more, sure. But he mistook need for love--he needed it to be love when it didn’t come close. After Elsa, he used to believe he would never fall head over heels over any other woman in the world, and he’d hoped that’s what he’d found with Cersei. He knows different now, he’s found the answer again. He knows what love feels like, and it’s not to Cersei. 

It’s the woman whose laughter can be heard from the other side of the house. The woman who can make his children so happy that they must burst into song to let it out of their systems, or they’d explode. A woman so shy at times who apologizes for apologizing so much, even when she shouldn’t. The woman who blushes when he greets her good morning or makes a snide comment, but so courageous and brave at others that she dared stand up to him on her very first week, shocking him to the core. The woman who got him singing--_singing!_\--after more than four years without music and who accompanied him on the guitar the whole song, wearing that magnificent blue dress. The one who, for all her talk, danced graciously in his arms just a few nights afterwards and pretended her blush stemmed from her not being used to dancing. The one person who broke his heart, again, when she left him that same ball gown night, and who’s put it back together after she returned. 

Granted, he didn’t understand her at first. She was just another one in a long line of failures who couldn’t stand up to his children. The twelfth woman he’d been forced to interview and hire because his children had scared away everyone else, and honestly, he knew at heart she wouldn’t stay for long either. When she came to him after that first week, he was certain she was quitting. 

But she stayed, and he didn’t fire her on the spot, only because it inconvenienced him and his trip back to Cersei. 

She was the first woman in a long line of governesses, ever since Elsa, who stood up to him, who defied him, who dared to talk back. The booze and tiredness made him hate that about her character, but it soon led to respect and awe. Jaime couldn’t comprehend how Miss Tarth could even try to stand up to him and speak her mind on her first week at the house. How she pulled through the children’s pranks. How in a matter of days she’d gotten an insight of his children that was miles away from the little he himself knew about them. How she’d gotten to know them so well, how she had them wrapped around her finger already. How she dared to stand tall, head held high, as she defied him twice and tried to make him see reason about his children, throwing at him--yelling at him--all the things he didn’t know and he should know about his children, for he is, after all, their damned father, and not a strange governess. 

_She was right._ He’s thought that a lot of times in the past few weeks, but it’s the truth. She was right from the very beginning. She knew his children much better than he did, than he ever bothered to do. She handled the kids and the house better than he ever did after Elsa’s death. It baffled him and it pissed him off, and so he decided to fire her as soon as he set eyes on her again. 

But then. . . _The singing._ The music he’d banned for so long, for it reminded him of Elsa, of happy times long past that couldn’t return. The joy and laughter from his soaked children as they pulled out of that damn water in what was supposed to be a perfectly collected first meeting with Baroness Cersei. He’d never heard them laugh so long or so hard for who knows what, not since their mother had passed away. 

Miss Tarth guided his way back to his children, slapped the truth in his face, and he saw reason, saw his children for the first time in so long. Loved them again, and to his greatest surprise, they loved him back. Because, as she said herself, they needed warmth, they needed love, they needed to reconnect--they were desperate for it. 

_Whenever I’m with her, I’m confused, out of focus and bemused, and I never know exactly where I am, _ he realizes all of a sudden with a chuckle, and he doesn't mind nor care at all. But that’s what he looks for: someone to bring him out of his work and his dark place. It was like that with Elsa. He’d hoped it’d be like that with Cersei, but it wasn’t. No, it’s all Miss Tarth. 

He only needs to be truthful for a little while longer and not allow Cersei to feel responsible at all. She’s been wonderful, her company’s been a blessing, and she holds a very dear spot in his heart. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. 

“I’m being dishonest to both of us and utterly unfair to you. When two people talk of marriage. . .” 

“No, don’t. Don’t say another word, please,” she begs, and he complies. “You see, there are other things I’ve been thinking of. Fond as I am of you, I really don’t think you’re the right man for me. You’re much too independent. And I need someone who needs me desperately, or at least needs my money desperately. 

“I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve had together, and I thank you for that. Now, if you’ll forgive me. . . I’ll go inside, pack my little bags. . . And return to Vienna, where I belong.” 

Ever so slowly, Jaime releases her hand and lets her take one step away. Yes, that’s exactly what she should do--leave him, his children, this place. They need to let each other go now. It’s the right thing to do, difficult as it is. Harsher for poor Cersei, however. 

“And somewhere out there,” sighs Cersei, looking out to the grounds, “is a lady who, I think. . . Should be up there in the altar instead of me.” 

That does shock Jaime’s whole system. He never meant to hurt Cersei this much, for so long. He’d tried to protect her, to hide his feelings for as long as he could, and had no idea that she was completely aware. 

“_Auf wiedersehen_, darling,” she says. 

She leans forward to give him a soft peck on the cheek, holding onto his chin to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness or him making the mistake to give her one last dishonest kiss. After that, she returns to the bedroom and Jaime remains on the balcony as she packs. If he were a true gentleman, he’d go inside and help Cersei pack her things, but he cannot bring himself to do that. He tells himself Cersei just wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion into her privacy, and just stands there, leaning on the veranda, staring down at the grounds. 

About one hour later, Christoph drives off the mansion in order to take Cersei to town, where she can take a flight back to Vienna. . . And from then on, they’ll move on with their lives, and what they do from now will remain a mystery to each other. 

If Jaime closes his eyes, he can still smell Cersei’s perfume from when she was standing right here with him. Feel her hand on his arm, holding him tenderly. Feel her lips on his cheek from their last goodbye kiss. Hear her laughter, feel her in bed, feel her arms around him on any of the varying balls they attended in Vienna and the one he threw here in Salzburg. 

He’s not regretting his decision. It was the right call to make for everyone involved. However, it just wouldn’t be fair if he were to chase after Miss Tarth right now. He’s in an emotional whirlwind and needs to collect himself in order not to hurt Miss Tarth too, on top of everything else he’s done to her. So, Jaime decides to wait until morning, after sleeping on it and trying to do things right this time around--like having a speech prepared beforehand. 

Sleep wouldn’t hurt, but instead, Jaime goes to his brother. 

“Hello, big brother,” Tyrion greets when he opens the door. He’s gone through his second beer already, Jaime reckons. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Jaime simply raises the bottle of wine he took from the cellar, letting Tyrion see the brand and the vintage year. As if it had been a password, Tyrion steps aside and opens the whole door to let Jaime in. The TV is on showing some old sitcom and, sure enough, Jaime sees two empty beers on the desk, a third one open. 

“To what do I owe this bribe?” Tyrion amends his earlier question. 

“Please, Tyrion,” Jaime begs, dropping dead on a love chair in the corner. “It’s hard enough coming to my little brother for help and advice. I beg you not to make fun of me also.” 

“Of course,” Tyrion accepts, pulling another armchair to sit across Jaime. “Everyone in the world knows that any second child is smarter than the firstborn.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Maybe, but you’re also desperate enough to come to me,” says Tyrion, pouring Jaime a glass of wine. “So, tell me what ails you, Jimmy. Is this about Miss Tarth?” 

“How did you know?” shrieks Jaime, truly terrified at his brother’s intuition. 

“Well, I’ve got two functioning eyes, and based on everything you do and say whenever you’re both in a room--” explains Tyrion, tilting his head to one side. 

Desperate for him and Brienne being so oblivious and so obvious in front of Tyrion and possibly everybody else too, Jaime’s head shoots back too, letting out a groan, and he takes a long sip from his wine. He’s starting to see they’re headed towards a very long night of drinking and arguing and not-so-innocent banter. 

“Dear Gods, I hope you’re wrong,” he scowls. “I wouldn’t want the kids thinking--” 

Given Tyrion’s response, which is to avoid Jaime’s eye, shrug, and take a sip of his wine, Jaime scowls again, but drops the subject. He cannot worry about that one right now. He’s got bigger fish to fry. 

“I’m really happy for you,” says Tyrion, blissfully changing the subject. “I honestly could never picture you and Cersei lasting too long--and certainly couldn’t picture her as a mother of seven children. Unless, of course, she was planning on shifting them all off to boarding school or something. 

“Baroness Machiavelli,” he sums up. 

“Hey, watch it,” scowls Jaime, for Cersei was in the Manor not too long ago, and he wouldn’t want to speak ill or disrespect her in any way--she’s done nothing to deserve that treatment, the poor woman. She opened up her heart to him and he wishes it had been enough. However, deep down, very deep down, Jaime agrees with his brother’s statement about Cersei being a mother figure for the children. He simply cannot say the words out loud, so he swallows them with some wine. He’d hoped things could work out with Cersei. He’s tried and fought his own feelings for as much time as he could allow. But alas, it seems it was never meant to be. 

“So, this is an operation to win Miss Tarth’s heart?” 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” says Jaime. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t. You’re nothing but a hopeless romantic.” 

After hours of drinking and putting up with Tyrion’s jokes, Jaime returns to his room. There’s no way of knowing how many hours of sleep he got, for he wakes up early as usual, but for the first time in so long, he opens his eyes to an empty bed. Not only that, but he also feels, to some degree, good. He lies for a few seconds more, waiting to see if remorse floods all over him, but it doesn’t. The only causes for regret this morning are all his drinking last night and the fact that he’s not downstairs at the terrace already. He knows he made the right call last night, however painful it was for him and for Cersei, and now that that’s dealt with, he just needs to go downstairs to meet Brienne. 

Today he’s incapable of focusing long enough to read a single line in the newspaper. Coffee in hand, every couple of seconds he peeks above the newspaper to scan the grounds, waiting for Miss Tarth, even when he knows she’s not returning for another half an hour, if she sticks to her usual routine, and he knows she will, for he gave her no indication that he needed to talk to her today. Either way, there’s nothing of interest to catch his eye--it’ll be bad news either way, and he’s not up to it this morning. 

Just another twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes. Ten. _Five. _

Part of him starts to wonder if Miss Tarth did actually leave for her morning jog or decided for a rare late morning when he finally sees movement amongst the trees. That’s her alright, her ridiculous flashy sports gear, her breathing ragged yet stable after the jog. Her hair, longer now, willowing in the wind, her flustered face. 

She seems him too from a distance and waves at him, but doesn’t stop running until she reaches the terrace. She checks something on her watch and then leans on her knees to catch her breath. 

“Morning,” he greets after a while. 

She straightens, a bit stiff for Jaime’s taste. He presents her with a peace offering in the form of her usual coffee and also some biscuits--for what he’s got in mind, he reckons she might appreciate the food today. 

“Morning,” she responds, out of air still. She starts stretching her arms above her head, then her legs, and Jaime gives her all the time she needs. He’s in no hurry. There’s no hurry anymore. 

Miss Tarth was right. He didn’t know his children. Sansa’s a woman already and she’s an excellent horseback rider. Jon and Robb are men too, and he’s taught them how to shave properly, forgetting any lessons about economics or the Lannister Empire. Bran and Rickon are just too angels who needed as much love as Jaime did. Rickon showed him his drawings and after a heart-to-heart, Jaime simply told him he didn’t have to attend any more lacrosse lessons, and that he could enroll in drawing or painting lessons next year. Gendry was the same, he looks up to Jaime so much that it hurts, and in the absence of a real father figure he always used to look up to Jon and Robb. Jaime’s also learned that Arya’s façade only a mask to hide away the pain for him shutting them away. 

Miss Tarth was right. The mansion lacked music, joy, and laughter--and it had nothing to do with discipline. He’d sent it all away to shide himself from any painful memories from Elsa, without realizing he was hurting his children in the process of protecting himself. Jokes, pranks, and laughter. The house, and Jaime, lacked Miss Tarth. Simple as that. She got him singing again without suffering a breakdown, got him to enjoy his children’s pranks, their puppet shows.

Lost in his reveries, Jaime barely realizes the moment Miss Tarth decides to join him without even asking permission. She sits opposite him on the table, dropping dead on the chair, stretching her never-ending legs. As she sat staring at the grounds, it gives Jaime the perfect opportunity to stare at her over the newspaper, eyes hiding behind his strands of hair, also failing at pretending not to be distracted by her presence. He waits until her chest stops moving up and down so erratically as earlier to fold the newspaper. 

Miss Tarth has given him a reason to stay, whereas Cersei kept pulling him away. Brienne has put the family back together--couple months ago, Jaime could never imagine having a heartfelt conversation with Jon and Robb, reading a bedtime story to Rick and Brandon, going riding with Sansa and Gendry. Nowadays, he couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving the house, leaving his children, for weeks at a time. The only piece missing from the puzzle now is a mother, true, but a woman the kids could truly love, for he already knows his feelings towards her. He shouldn’t worry too much, he reckons. They all already love her, because she’s given them all so damn much. Eight members of this family could and would kneel and beg her to stay. 

That’s what he should have done that day, up in her toom, when he asked her to stay. He was asking her to give him another chance, to stay until the wedding, to stay forever. He doesn’t know really, but he was begging her to stay. He dropped his defenses and for once in his life he wasn’t in the military or a ruthless businessman. He stripped his façade and honestly, genuinely, asked her not to leave them. 

She did, however. Against all odds, against everyone’s hopes and dreams, she left. 

Left--left him--at that ball, without a proper explanation. Left after they’d danced so beautifully and he’d thought he didn’t want to let her go when she pulled away with a lame-ass excuse worse than his jokes tend to be. Left after Tyrion invited her to dine with them and Jaime allowed her, knowing that if it had been any other governess, he would never have let her join the party. He wanted _her_ to stay, see her blush under the lights and the stares of so many men he was oblivious to, himself included. 

But she did leave, and that period was horrible. Music gone, magic gone, laughter gone, they all fell into a deep and terrible slumber. It was similar to a dream, like living through another person. It was returning to what life was before her--a dark, lonely, joyless place Jaime had vowed to himself and to the children he wouldn’t return to, no matter what happened. Everyone missed her terribly, maybe even Cersei. 

When she came back, it wasn’t as a governess. They both knew that, even if they lied to each other and in front of Cersei, Tyrion, and the kids. _Only until arrangements can be made for another governess,_ she'd said, but she should have known that no governesses were to ever replace her. At that very moment, Jaime knew he couldn’t let her go again, let her leave the children or him ever again. 

It’s all up to her, now. Once upon a time, he was in a position of giving her orders. He thought he knew best. That’s not true anymore, however. She’s the smart one, she knows what’s best for the family, knew it the instant she set foot into the house, the minute she met the children, and has worked and fought for them ever since. He’ll let her lead and take them to a safe harbor and be the captain of the ship. . . If only she said yes. 

_Time to know,_ he settles, folding the newspaper in half and leaving it on the table. One word and the whole family will be damned all over again. But it’s her choice too, he cannot order her around anymore. He’s long learned she’s got a mind and a heart of her own, free, indomitable, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s come to love that about her, after all. 

“So,” he starts, leaning forward. “Are you too tired?” 

Across the table, Brienne leans forward, half-worried, half-interested. “Too tired for what?” 

“I just thought I might tempt you to another kind of exercise this morning,” he shrugs. 

_Dammit._ All that careful planning with Tyrion, it was freaking useless--or maybe Tyrion just wanted to have a laugh at his expense? Jaime sees Brienne’s reaction to his words, how she misunderstands his words completely, and has to fight off a laughing fit. Seeing the colors rush to her cheeks, he knows fully well what sort of ‘exercise’ she’s thinking of, which is far from what Jaime had in mind himself. But then again, if that’s what she’s expecting, or looking forward to, why should he make this more complicated than it needs to be--? 

_Focus, will you!_ he orders himself, putting a stop to a trail of thoughts that has no place and time right here and now. 

“Rowing!” he explains hastily, to put them both out of their misery, and he sees how Brienne takes a deep breath, her cheeks slowly returning to their original, healthy color. “I was going to suggest going out on the boats.” 

“I really should tend to the kids--” she tries to excuse herself, standing. Jaime jumps off his chair to stop her. 

“No, you don’t. Tyrion will take care of them this morning. I’m just asking for a couple of hours, Fräulein,” he says upon her looking nowhere but certain about his plans, albeit he hates using such a formal title still. “Who knows, it _might_ be fun, don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to one chapter per week (probably, depending on the spare time to write I get from work)!  
For those of you wondering--the break-up conversation between Jaime and Cersei was literally extracted from the movie, yes!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime go rowing and, out in the lake, they feel out it's the perfect time and place to talk and come clean about some things. . .

“So. . . Are you too tired?” 

Brienne leans forward, cautiously weary. What sort of question is that? What in the world is Mr. Lannister planning now? “Too tired for what?” 

“I just thought I might tempt you to another kind of exercise this morning,” he shrugs. 

What sort of exercise. . .? Her mind goes straight to sex without prior warning, and, startled, she blushes furiously. Why did her mind have to go there? she scowls. Jaime clearly didn’t mean that, as he has a hard time fighting back a laughing fit. 

“Rowing,” he hurries to explain, letting Brienne breathe once more. “I was going to suggest going out on the boats.” 

This is dangerous, Brienne’s mind finally registers the awkwardness of the situation and Mr. Lannister’s suggestion. What about his work? What about the kids? And Baroness Schraeder? This is ten kinds of wrong, she can tell. 

“I really should tend to the kids--” she tries to excuse herself, standing. Jaime jumps off his chair to stop her, reaching out his good hand, but he doesn’t even come close to touching her. Out of respect, maybe? What in the Seven Gods name is going on here? 

“No, you don’t. Tyrion will take care of them this morning. I’m just asking for a couple of hours, Fräulein,” he insists, upon her frowning and still trying to leave the terrace, leave the Mansion, maybe. He might have lost his mind, but at the very least he hasn’t forgotten her place--he’s still using her title correctly. “Who knows, it _might_ be fun, don’t you think?

Brienne ponders for all of ten seconds, as Mr. Lannister holds his breath waiting for her answer. 

“You can row?” she asks, making the man chuckle. 

“Well, I can go canoeing, I suppose,” he specifies, raising his right hand and the prosthetic. “I can manage with an oar.” 

There are one too many reasons why Brienne should decline the invitation and just go inside the Mansion, probably spoil uncle Tyrion’s plans for today and spend the day fulfilling her job, staying with the children. There’s the children, to start with. Uncle Tyrion. The Baroness. The Staff, for Pete’s sake. 

But none of those arguments come to mind in time. For some reason, she believes that if Mr. Lannister has suggested going rowing on a morning like today, he must have thought of all those problems and sorted it all out--or maybe, he’s just hoping it’ll all work out, which might be highly wishful thinking she’s never heard coming from the man before. 

Be as it may, she remains silent for so long that it’d be uncomfortable to decline his suggestion now. Standing out here in the terrace, she must give him an answer. He invites her over one more time by descending the first steps of the stairs and reaching his hand out--the way he invited him to dance on that ball night, so long ago. 

Once more, her feet move before she gives any orders for them to, and meets Mr. Lannister on the steps, but refuses his hand. That’d be going too far, given the circumstances. He respects her feelings gallantly, considering she’s otherwise accepted the suggestion of going rowing, and starts walking. Hands inside his pockets, not a hurry in the world, he hasn’t even thought about taking two minutes to change into sports gear. 

Is he truly going rowing in a suit and tie? Brienne wonders, unable to raise the question aloud, lest he thinks it through and decides it was all a big mistake. 

He’s left a respectful distance from Brienne, and so she can almost enjoy the stroll down to the boathouse, with Mr. Lannister whistling some tune she cannot place. Walking under the shades of the trees, protecting them from the warm early summer sun. 

Brienne had her own reservations concerning Jaime’s plan, but he surpasses all of her expectations and worries by a long shot. Even with his prosthetic hand, he’s perfectly able to handle carrying the boat into the lake--he even gives her a hand boarding the boat and settling at her place, facing Mr. Lannister. He’s long been used to rowing with the prosthetic, and he’s better at it than Brienne is, as well. The only handicap is that he can only row on the right side of the boat to help with the rowing, but Brienne compensates in front of him. 

Soon enough they’re out on the lake, face to face, separated by only a few feet, sliding with apparent effortless efficiency. Their ragged breathing accompanies the oars submerging into the water and then breaking the water surface again on their way up, but that’s about all they can hear about them, except an occasional bird chirping from the nest on a tree they pass by. No one is up and about just yet, much less on a boat out there in the lake, despite the fact that at least half a dozen Manors do have boathouses, wooden piers, and access to the lake. 

As minutes scrape by, however, other worries arise. The children, for one. They’re in her care, that’s why she came back after all, and feels wrong to let Tyrion in charge for the whole morning. But it’s so much more than that. It’s also being alone with Jaime for the first time since his return, being painfully aware that Baroness Schraeder is being kept in the dark of this transgression and is still asleep in bed, peaceful. It’s the awkward proximity to her employer. It’s the fact he’s wearing a formal shirt instead of a sports gear like her, and the sweat makes the shirt stuck to Jaime’s chest and abdomens. It’s the fact that she can see all his muscles move and strain every time he leans and struggles for each paddle, without complaining about the extra difficulty. 

His shirt makes Brienne conscious of her own clothing as well, too short and tight to be considered appropriate in front of her employer. It doesn’t take long for the colors to rush to her cheeks, and she needs to come up with a cleverer response than ‘I’m not used to dancing’ this forsaken time. 

“You know, I was thinking,” says Jaime after a while. _Dangerous start,_ Brienne ponders, unable to stop him. _Why did I accept to be trapped in a boat without means of escaping? _ She briefly considers jumping into the water, but she rules out the possibility of making such a big fool out of herself--she would never outlive the shame, truly. “I was wondering two things: why did you run away to Salzburg? 

“And what was it that made you come back?” 

Brienne paddles away six times before she can come up with an innocuous answer. She cannot come clean now, can she? It’s too late. She was too late. Per usual. “Well, I had an obligation to fulfill. . . And I came back to fulfill it.” 

Five rows for Jaime to ponder her answer. “Is that all?” 

“And I missed the children,” Brienne can’t stop herself from saying. 

“Yes,” nods Jaime, leaning. “Only the children?” 

“No,” she blurts out before she can think of the implications, when she realizes the wrongness of her answer, all the ways Mr. Lannister could misinterpret her words. “Yes! Isn’t it right that I missed them?” 

“Oh, yes!” says Jaime, who looks pleased as well as nervous. The children have missed her alright--and begged her not to go away never again. Certainly, Jaime noticed. They both know she cannot do what they asked of her, they’ll have to make do with Baroness Cersei. 

All of a sudden, Brienne ponders if this out of the ordinary excursion is Mr. Lannister’s farewell gift to her, his way of making up for everything that went array these past months, giving her a chance to open up to him. She looks around once more, taking it all again with very different eyes, breathing in the smell of nature, the sun, everything. Well, as far as last days at a job go, this one is not half bad. She only needs to ask if she can give the kids a proper goodbye, when they return with Tyrion. 

“Yes, of course, it is,” says Jaime, making Brienne look at him again. “I. . . I was only hoping that perhaps you. . . Perhaps you might. . .” 

_Why is he making this so difficult?_ Was it truly better to do this out on a boat, without means of escaping each other’s eyes? Brienne almost wants to scowl. 

“Yes?” she presses. 

“Well, nothing was the same when you were away,” confesses Jaime, tilting his head in an adorable shy gesture, “and it’ll be all wrong again after you leave. And. . . And I just thought, perhaps, you might. . . Change your mind?” 

_Of course, I would._ This time Brienne does manage to bite her lower lip so hard she’s certain she’ll pour blood. She thought this was going to be a very different kind of conversation, and the turn Jaime took, she’s uneasy. Realizing they haven’t been moving for a little while, she paddles a few more times, an excuse to break eye contact with the man. He’s not asking you to stay, you moron. It’s just the children. 

“Well, I’m sure the Baroness will be able to make things fine for you,” she mutters. 

“Brienne,” says Jaime, and something in his voice, in the soft way he says and caresses her name, compels her to look back up at him, barely breathing. “There isn’t going to be any Baroness.” 

“There isn’t?” 

“No,” he answers flatly. Direct, simple, succinct--exactly the man she met, a few months back. No unnecessary words to elaborate a simple enough answer that has no simple implications. But, the look he gives her, those soft eyes sparkling like the water glimmering all around them, is nowhere like the cold looks he gave her on her first day. Now there’s something else. Politeness, warmth, appreciation, and does she dare to read--? 

“I don’t understand,” begs Brienne. 

“Well, we’ve called off our engagement, you see, and--”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Brienne finds herself saying. 

“Yes. You are?” he shrieks when he registers her answer. 

“You did?” Brienne shrieks back, the real meaning of Jaime’s words sinking about a minute after he said them. None of them realized what they were truly saying, they were just acting and talking out of politeness. 

Now, they seem to analyze all they’ve said, painstakingly slowly. Jaime isn’t to marry Baroness Cersei anymore. Brienne confessed to be, despite all odds, sorry for the engagement being called off. Jaime asked her to stay--without mentioning it was the children’s plea at all. How genuine are really all those feelings and confessions? Hers are, but what about Jaime’s? 

“Yes, we did,” confirms Jaime again, and this time, she believes him. 

The honesty catches Brienne by surprise and she stares back at Jaime, completely flabbergasted, for so long. She’s still been unable to utter a single monosyllable by the time Jaime gives up and starts paddling again. In an automatic response, Brienne mimics his movements, sinking the oar into the water and forcing her arms back to propel the boat, trying to hide her face behind her too short hair. _If you were waiting for an opening, that was it, and you completely blew it, _ she chastises herself. 

A few more minutes fly by without either of them saying a thing, letting the chirping of the birds and the oars breaking the lake’s surface fill in the silence. They’re just too nervous or ashamed after the moment where they’ve left their hearts open--or is that just Brienne’s case? 

But then, Jaime’s response to the whole situation shocks Brienne for the second time in as many minutes: he bursts out laughing. 

“Can’t you see?” he asks. “Perfect balance.”

She looks around, taking in the sight Mr. Lannister sees: the summer sun glimmering on the water like a thousand diamonds, tranquil water disturbed only by their oars and the boat sliding, the nature and the woods surrounding the lake and Manors. It’s an incredible picture to behold, an amazing scenery to grow in and grow old at, she’ll confess. The kids don’t seem to realize that--this is all they’ve known--but she knows for a fact she’s been lucky to enjoy it all, even for a brief amount of time. 

“How on Earth did you manage to throw all my children overboard one of these boats?” 

_Oh, is that how it is, now, _ she grins mischievously at him. Jaime realizes his mistake just a millisecond before Brienne acts up: she stands, almost jumps off her spot, and Jaime doesn’t have the time to stop her before she leans to the side and effectively manages to capsize the boat, throwing Jaime overboard in the process.

When she comes out to the surface, all her daring and tendency for happiness and pranking vanish. Brienne swims to the other side of the boat, a bit terrified. She had her best intentions at heart, a way to pull through a very awkward rowing session and conversation, but she’s long learned that Mr. Jaime Lannister is not one to appreciate jokes. Also, her actions just now might lead him wondering if that show they put up on their meeting the Baroness was an accident after all. 

Holding onto the boat, she freezes when Jaime finally emerges to the surface, spitting some water he’d swallowed. Well, that’s another inconvenience to wear a shirt suit so early in the morning: it’s completely ruined now. Albeit he’d never expected such an occurrence happening, maybe that’s why. 

The man couldn’t look less interested in his clothing being soaked or them ending up in the lake on a fine morning like this one. He’s not at all bothered. In fact, at that moment he bursts out laughing again. The most wholehearted, boisterous, and honest laughter she’s heard coming from the man so far--and so contagious, too, for she starts giggling after a second, joining in without really knowing why. 

“Well, now I see that it is possible,” he laughs. 

“Shouldn’t underestimate your children’s capabilities.” 

“I won’t,” Jaime promises, pulling his long hair back. “And yours either.” 

As distracted as Brienne was by the sight of Jaime laughing and soaked to the bone, unfathomed by the show she’s put him through, she should have realized much earlier of a crime a thousand times worse than sending Mr. Lannister into the water. 

Jaime sees her shocked face and follows Brienne’s gaze towards his hand--his right arm, where his prosthetic hand should be, but isn’t. He hadn’t realized it was gone either up until this very moment, upon her fright and shock, and Brienne doesn’t wait to see his reaction. She takes a deep intake of breath and sinks again into the lake, stretching as far as her arms go, searching the darkness for that prosthetic. 

An arm surrounds her by the waist, forcefully pulling her up to the surface, against her will. She struggles as much as she can to swim deeper into the water, but Jaime manages to stand his ground by holding with his left hand onto the boat. Both of them fight until Brienne finally gives up, returning to the surface and warm sun, and then they cough and gasp for air for some long seconds. 

“Are you _crazy?_ You don’t even know how deep these waters are!” scowls Jaime. 

“But. . . Your hand. . .” she stutters. This is the first time she mentions his disability head-on, in front of Jaime, and it feels so very wrong. 

“Isn’t worth that much,” he interjects. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get out, come on.” 

He points for her to take the boat’s rope to carry it back to the shore, for he hasn’t released his grip around Brienne’s figure. He keeps his arm there as they try to make their way to safety, forcing himself, for some reason, to overcomplicate matters unnecessarily by trying to swim back to the shore only with his left arm. Brienne can see how uncomfortable and difficult it is for him and pulls away. 

“I can manage,” she promises. 

Jaime releases her immediately, falling behind as Brienne leads the way to the shore with the boat. She curses herself at his response--has she hurt him now? Which one was it, her losing his prosthetic or her pushing him away? Can’t she do anything right?

They return to Lannister premises through the same garden gate the children and Brienne came out of the water on their first meeting with the Baroness. The parallel isn’t amiss by either one of them, but neither Brienne nor Jaime could really put the symbolism into words. Last time, he’d just discovered a side of his children he hadn’t seen sicne before their Mother had passed away. Jaime was about ready to fire Brienne because of that, and he just got a shower of reality instead, concerning his own kids. This time. . . Gods know, because Brienne has no idea of what to do now. Has no idea what intentions Jaime had in the beginning upon inviting her rowing, or if his plans have changed over the course of their session. 

For now, he leads her back to the terrace, where they were seating half an hour earlier, grabs a couple of towels and hands her one. Brienne tries to dry her hair and face, but it’s useless, she’s dripping wet. The same goes for Jaime, but he sits on one of the chairs nonetheless. Not daring to soak a chair, Brienne leans against the veranda, still attempting to dry her hair because manners seem to indicate so. 

What a pair, she chuckles. Both soaking wet, flustered, their clothes crumpled and painfully stucking to her skin, making her overly conscious again. Who knows what any of the servants would think if they saw them--or any of the children, for that matter. 

“I’m. . . I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she whispers. Jaime’s been leaning on his knees, head dropped, looking at the spot where his lost prosthetic should be. It just felt like the right thing to do, although he didn’t look that forlorn a few minutes earlier. 

“Have you heard of wildfire, Brienne?” he asks instead, without looking up. 

“Can’t say that I have,” she says softly. It feels like stepping into uncharted territory or a landmine, and she needs to proceed with caution. Jaime seems to feel the same, for his voice is low, soft, and starts speaking without looking up at her yet. 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he nods, albeit it’d appear he’s talking to himself rather than Brienne. “It’s something the military has been working on for some years. A new kind of bomb, sort to speak. Apart from the initial deflagration, the idea the scientists had in mind was to create a fire that couldn’t be put out, without water or any other means known to men.” 

“As in Greek fire?” 

“Something exactly like that,” Jaime nods. “It was still on developing stages when I joined the military. . . Who knows what advances they’ve pulled off since then. Either way, they needed target practices, so they used old, useless machinery to use those bombs on--you know, testing the chemicals and how they reacted to different ingredients, combinations and materials. 

“The scientists and the bomb squad ran tests almost weekly. The explosions could be heard all over the base, and every time the fire grew wilder and wilder, but it was never good enough for them. It never seemed like a good idea to me, but what was I supposed to say? I spent weeks at a time away from main base, I didn’t even have any proof. Captain or not, all I had was a respectable history in the military and a renowned name in the civil world. 

“In the bomb squad, there was this man. . . Aerys. . . He was mad, completely nuts. I’d never set eyes on him or spoken to the man directly, but he was famous all around the base. His colleagues called him ‘The Mad King’ and it made him proud. He was just so obsessed with fire, so invested in all those tests, in pursuing every possible variable and testing every available chemical. Rumors raised that he always wanted to go further, bigger, deadlier, to a point where his ideas could, and should have been, considered dangerous. I was told that numerous reports and complaints were received by Command about Aerys, but the man was a key member of the experiments, and the CO never judged it appropriate to discharge him. 

“The night I finally met him, it was under less than desirable conditions.” Jaime takes a very deep breath of air, runs his hand through his hair, pulling it back, although it falls down his shoulders the next second, and he gives up. 

“It was late at night, just before another deployment, and I came out of my dorms to stretch my legs because I couldn’t sleep. I. . . I caught Aerys sneaking out of the labs carrying something, a bomb, I assumed right away. Him taking that bomb out so late at night, all alone. . . It was clearly unsupervised and unapproved. 

“I should have raised the alarm right there, I should have sent a foot soldier after Aerys, I should have reported it all to the CO. . . But I didn’t. I simply followed him to the practice grounds, as if hoping one man could stop Aerys. 

“I saw him planting whatever he was carrying near the CO’s office. By then, I should have rung an alarm, done _anything_ else than what I did. . . And yet, I pulled my gun and yelled him to stop. He scattered and ran the other way. 

“There was a small window to get the bomb away from there, I knew that much, so I made the great choice of shooting Aerys on the back to try to stop him. Then, I ran as much as I could, yelling at the top of my lungs to alert everyone within hearing range that a bomb was going to explode. I didn’t even have the whistle with me at the time, which would have been helpful, in retrospect. I just. . . Took the bomb, ran towards the practice grounds, and threw it as far as it would go. 

“The bomb went off then. I was obviously too close still, the deflagration hit me on my right side. . . It felt as if I was in fire. . . I was in so much pain. There was only red, red everywhere I looked, red in every fiber of my being. 

“I don’t really remember anything else, I woke up about a week later at the military hospital. My right arm and side would recover in time and with a lot of rehab, but. . . There was nothing they could do for my hand. 

“Also. . . Well, I had always had good aim with weapons, mind you, and apparently that fatal night I did too. The bullet hit its target. I think I only meant to shoot a warning shot, to scare Aearys, but I can’t remember what I was aiming at. 

“Long story short,” he says, trying to get back on track after losing his train of thought, “I shot Aerys right on the back and, well, it turns out, he died right there on the ground. I faced a martial Court. Given the fact that I’d saved the Gods know how many soldiers, and given also my injuries, I was dishonorably discharged.” 

When he started speaking, it was hard for Brienne not to interject him and kindly promise Jaime he had no obligation of telling her any of that. As his speech progressed, she was more horrified and shaken, unable to utter a single word. By the time Jaime speaks about his hospitalization and the loss of his hand, tears--of rage, hatred, pain or sadness, or maybe all of those feelings combined--spill from his eyes hopelessly and unstoppable. 

It wakes something within her. Jaime seems to have that effect, that spell, on her. Seeing him that defeated, that heartbroken, she cannot stand it. Brienne finds herself kneeling in front of Jaime. At that gesture of kindness, the man, the rest of his speech unintelligible, leans forward to rest against her shoulder, seeking and thanking her solace. 

“Jaime. . .” she whispers, caressing his neck, the strands of hair wet. Something flashes in his face, and Brienne recoils for just a second, in wonder. Could this be the very first time she’s called him that? No ‘Mr. Lannister’, no ‘sir’, no ‘captain’, no other stupid title? Does that make such a difference on him? _On her? _

He needs a few minutes to collect himself, but she does not move or speak at all. What sort of answer could she give him? He’d find no solace in whatever she could come up with. It seems that, for now, her touch, her presence there, is enough. She can give him that much. She’s not going anywhere for the time being. If he’d let her, she wouldn’t go anywhere any time soon. 

“Brienne,” he says then. “One cannot. . . One cannot marry someone when they’re in love with someone else, can they?”

Her head shoots right up, startled. _I do hope there isn’t another woman,_ she almost jokes, but instead just shakes her head, ever so slightly, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s. She feels her heart beating so hard in her ribcage, and colors rush back to her face when Jaime raises his hand to her cheek, letting her lean against his good hand. She closes her eyes at the warmth of the touch, that she’s longed for and craved so much since that night when they danced. She hasn’t forgotten his touch or his firm hold around her figure as they turned and whirled around the courtyard, and has dreamed of it many times since. Relishing in the way they seem to fit so perfectly, as if they’d always belonged. 

“Oh, can this be happening to me?” she mutters without prior plannings to do so. 

Jaime chuckles under his breath, pulling Brienne for her to stand, walk a few steps, and sit on the bench by his side, saving the small distance splitting them apart. There’s awe and devotion in his eyes too. Then, this wasn’t just her imagination. It wasn’t just a silly adolescent romance, it wasn’t a cliché. It was all so real and true. It felt so good, it couldn’t be wrong. 

“My father always says that ‘when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.’” 

“Sounds like a very smart man,” praises Jaime. “What else does he say?” 

“That you have to look for your life.” 

“Is that why you came back?” asks Jaime, still pressing for that answer, even when he’s gotten it already. 

Brienne nods at him, unable to put it into words. 

“And have you found it?” 

She’s still too dazed, too out of her mind, to produce any coherent thought, much less a sentence. She couldn’t even come up with a proper song, right now. 

“Brienne,” Jaime presses, squeezing her hand. As if he _needed_ to hear her say the words. 

“I think I have,” she says in the end. “I _know_ I have,” she mends. Jaime breathes again, looking relieved beyond belief, as if he’d been waiting for an atomic bomb to drop and in the end, all he found was daises. 

Brienne can hardly breathe. She saw the intentions in his eyes well in advance, he gave her time to reject him in case she wanted to as he leaned forward, he could have stopped himself and said a million things, but neither of those things happen. And then their lips meet, so softly it feels as if they’d feared they could break each other with that kiss. Perhaps that was a risk, after all. By giving in, by surrendering to their feelings, their devotions, their heart’s calling, they’ve given each other the perfect tool to hurt each other. 

Only a small part of Brienne’s mind can think of the risks right now. Her whole body, her brain, tells her this feels too good to be wrong. The way Jaime responds, he feels that way too, and confirms her thoughts when he pulls away with a broad smile, blushing slightly--only a fifth of how bad Brienne’s blushing right now. 

And then, looking into each other’s eyes, Brienne laughs. Because she _has_ come up with a song befitting this perfect moment, in the end. 

  
_Perhaps I had a wicked childhood _  
_Perhaps I had a miserable youth _  
_But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past _  
_There must have been a moment of truth. _  
_For here you are, standing there, loving me _  
_Whether or not you should. _  
_So somewhere in my youth or childhood _  
_I must have done something good. _  
_Nothing comes from nothing, _  
_Nothing ever could. _  
_So somewhere in my youth or childhood _  
_I must have done something good. _  


When she finishes the song, Jaime ever so carefully leans towards her and their lips meet for the second time, but it feels so appropriate and comforting and warm that it can only be right. 

“I love you,” Brienne dares to utter. She opens her eyes briefly, in case she went too far, but judging by the look on Jaime’s eyes, it was just the right thing to say. He smiles at her and leans to give her another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, especially coming up with Jaime's backstory, which I pray doesn't suck too much. . . Either way, I hope you enjoyed the chapter !!
> 
> Edit:  
Also, while doing research, I've recently realized the Austrian Armed Forces _ don't_ have a Navy branch, since the end of WW1. I used the 'captain' title refer to Jaime/Captain Von Trapp all throughout my work because that's his title in the original movie, but I guess I should have done my due research before. . .  
There was, during 1958 through 2006, a naval squadron which patrolled the Danube, but I assume it's not the same (didn't do the military service in my country, much less Austria), and I don't think George Von Trapp would be called 'captain' serving in that branch, but either way I'm not going to correct my work at this point. . . Sorry for the misunderstandings and turning a blind eye to it!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up exactly where we left off at the last chapter: Jaime and Brienne have a heart-to-heart talk outside on the terrace! There are many things they need to discuss, but they never seem to be able to find the time, the poor things !!

“I’m yours,” Jaime whispers, resting his forehead against hers. “Completely and irretrievably yours--I felt through the cracks and I’m still trying to get back.” 

Him uttering the words from that forsaken pop song he caught her dancing to on her first night does make Brienne burst out laughing. However, Jaime’s on a roll, and doesn’t let the rveries, or Brienne’s remarks, stop him now. 

“There’s no way around it, I’ve fallen head over heels for you, honey. From the moment where you sat on that pinecone, from the moment I saw you in those pajamas signing that stupid pop song, from when you dared standing up to me on your first week. . . I’m all yours, Brienne.” 

“Not sure it was love at first sight for me,” chuckles Brienne. “Took a bit longer.” 

“I bet,” chuckles Jaime. “Come to my room, please, Brienne,” he begs in a warm whisper. “I need to make things right.” 

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” she replies. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Well, let’s see,” her mind’s buzzing with all the attention Jaime’s lips and tongue and hand is giving her neck and shoulders, hair--he’s everywhere, dammit--but still she manages to focus just long enough. “You did name call me, yelled at me, used your power to treat me worse than any of your servants, and still went ahead and screwed me over while being in Vienna. But no, you don’t have to apologize for anything.” 

“You play dirty,” Jaime complaints, but he makes her pay: his lips crash against hers, and Brienne’s reasoning goes out the window. Without really knowing what she’s doing, she forces Jaime to retreat across the terrace, until he hits the terrace wall, and she pins him there. 

“So do you.” 

“All’s fair in love and war, darling,” Jaime replies, a wicked grin on his lips. He spins so he’s the one to hold her against the wall, leaving no way out, with so much momentum that he needs to lean his slump on the wall for balance. Brienne keeps him steady, her hands never leaving his body, taking the shirt off his trousers so she can reach and caress his flesh. 

The way Jaime’s hand cups her cheek adoringly while his lips and tongue try to memorize every corner and nook of her neck, jaw, and mouth, it’s ridiculous how Brienne can come up with just the strangest of questions. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” 

Jaime freezes, astonished, pulling back with wide eyes. His breathing ragged, he looks at her without understanding how she could pump the brakes at such a moment. But then, Brienne waves over to the house with her eyes, and he understands. She pulls her closer, resting his hand and stump on her lower back, and smiles fondly. 

“Nothing to worry about. I sent the Staff away.” He wanted to be alone with her for this. Whether she accepted, or worse, she refused him, he wanted to grant her a little bit of the privacy she’s been denied ever since she started working here. And if, the Seven forbid, she’d denied having feelings for him, at least he could wander off into the woods and she could pack her things and leave without any of the Staff members bothering or judging her. Given all he’s put her through since they first met, this kindness was the least he could do for her today. 

Amused, Brienne rests a hand on Jaime’s chest to stop him from crashing against her lips again.

“You’re telling me that Jaime Lannister has given all his servants a rare morning off? However will we manage, exactly?”

Jaime chuckles, knowing that he does give out an image of arrogant, little rich kid to any bystander--Brienne to start with. He leans, starting his relentless trail of kisses all over Brienne’s jaws and neckline all over again. 

“Oh, I think we’ll be alright,” he says, his low voice and hot breath giving Brienne goosebumps all down the spine. 

“And. . . The kids?” 

“Don’t worry about them either,” he says. “Tyrion’s supposed to. . .” 

Almost as if they’d summoned them all just by mentioning them, they hear a car driving over the gravel by the entrance. Brienne and Jaime cannot move, frozen, as the vehicle pulls to a stop at the Mansion’s front door and the racket of seven kids fill the air. 

“Damn Tyrion,” scowls Jaime, dropping his arms. 

“It’s okay,” whispers Brienne, resting her face against Jaime’s chest--an attempt to hold back her laughter, not really comfort him. 

“We agreed that he’d keep the kids away all morning.” 

“It’s okay,” Brienne repeats, unable to find any more words, apparently. 

Her hands slide down Jaime’s chest in an attempt to iron his shirt, to no avail--the piece of clothing is still stiff after the swim they got earlier. With any luck, neither the kids nor Tyrion will draw any other conclusions. 

Jaime’s hand and stump resting on her lower back, she finally looks at him. The sorrow, and also the desire, she reads in his face makes her laugh, and she gives him just a peck on the nose for compensation--a brief kiss, for they can hear the kids running around the Mansion looking for them, and she wouldn’t want the children to see them like this. It’s way too soon. 

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.” 

“It’s not,” Jaime replies immediately. He doesn’t sound as put off as two seconds ago when they realized the children were coming back, and Brienne ponders if he’s secretly thanking their early return as much as she is. Maybe it was too early for both. 

The kids are drawing closer and closer by the second, and Jaime realizes they’ve got just a few beats before they find them out there. He takes Brienne’s hands in his and kisses her knuckles, one after the other. 

“D’you want to change? I can distract that army for a few minutes.” 

_Perhaps I should,_ ponders Brienne, looking down at her sports gear. She looks almost as bad as Jaime does in his wet formal shirt and trousers, and changing into regular clothes would decrease the number of questions and suspicions the kids could come up with when they meet them. She realizes Jaime’s doing her a kindness by opening that window for her, but she just smiles back. 

“It’s okay,” she says for the third time in a row. She leans forward and Jaime attempts to meet her halfway for one last kiss, but she just chuckles and pushes him away--all she wanted was to move away from the wall Jaime’s pinned her against and to have some space to breathe. 

Just in time, too: Jon and Robb are the first ones to find them, and they yell for all their siblings and Tyrion to meet them at the terrace. Only three kids answer the call, however; Arya and Gendry stay inside. The rest, upon seeing the tray of biscuits on the table, the ones Brienne didn’t finish earlier, just jump onto the food. 

“Well, help yourselves, please,” says Jaime, sighing deeply at the poor composure they manage to show--seems to Brienne pretty much everything will set off Jaime right now, and that’s why she does the only thing she can think of: she also grabs a few of the biscuits. She’s tired and hungry after all the exercise and knows Jaime is as well. After a beat, he gives up and grabs a biscuit too before the children finish them all. 

The proximity leads to all members of the family coming to a few realizations. First, Brienne can tell, by looking at Sansa’s eyes, that she’s been crying again. And also, that Robb and Jon tried to interrogate the girl without success. On the other hand, the kids finally catching up on their Father’s and Brienne’s clothing. 

“Father, what happened to you?” asks Rickon, eyeing them from head to toes. 

“And where’s your hand?” presses Tyrion. 

“What in the world happened to _you?”_ scowls Jaime in return, sending his brother a hatred look Brienne has barely seen coming from Mr. Lannister--and she’s been in the receiving end of his judgmental looks a whole lot since she met him. 

“Arya’s not feeling well,” explains Tyrion. “I think she might be running a fever.” 

“Oh, no,” whispers Brienne, looking around for the girl. “Where is she?” 

“Sent her upstairs to rest,” says Tyrion. “Gendry’s with her, she’ll be alright.” 

“What did you do?” asks Rickon, pulling on Brienne’s sleeve. “You went swimming?” 

“Something like that.” 

“With your regular clothes on?” 

“We went out rowing,” Jaime explains upon the incessant questions. 

“Ah, I see,” nods Tyrion, with a twisted smile, but Jaime can tell the sarcasm in his brother’s voice. “Robb, please remind me, it’s been a while since I practiced any water sports. . . One would be _on top_ of the boat while rowing, though, wouldn’t they?” 

“Tyrion,” scowls Jaime, warning and threat in his voice. 

“Father, what happened to your hand?” Robb asks--they haven’t been able to provide answers for every little mystery, albeit Tyrion could help them out, if he wanted to. 

“Listen, kids, this isn’t ‘Little red riding hood’, no wolf is waiting to eat you,” scowls Jaime. “You can stop questioning us now.” 

“It was pretty hot,” Brienne lies in lieu of having a face-off between the Lannister siblings, or worse, amongst Jaime and the kids. She kneels in front of Rickon and Brandon, who seem to be sweating with the long-sleeves shirts they’re wearing. “Still is, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah. A bit,” nods Rickon--he’s now rolling up the sleeves, since someone has finally acknowledged that it’s freaking August and they’re wearing uniforms. 

“I’ve got an idea,” whispers Brienne, so low that only Rickon and Bran can hear her. Jaime and the elder siblings only see a wicked grin on her lips that should most certainly scare the former and thrill the latter. “On the count of three, okay?” 

“One,” says Brandon--he’s no clue about what Brienne wants to do, but he’s up to it nonetheless. 

“Two,” adds Rickon. 

“Three!” finishes Brienne. 

She jumps to her feet and, taking their hands, she dashes off running. . . Sansa, Jon, Tyrion, and Robb follow suit even before they realize she’s headed straight for the lake and does not stop as she dives right in, holding Brandon to prevent any accidents or having Jaime suffering a heart attack. But she shouldn’t have worried--right then, someone else jumps into the water, and two seconds later, Jaime himself emerges to the surface, spitting some water he’d swallowed. 

“Not so hot anymore, is it?” she asks. 

In the midst of celebratory yells for having their Father, of all people, out here in the water as well, Jaime takes Rickon from her arms. She needs to splash him to prevent Jaime from leaning to kiss her, too, and for good measure, she swims a few feet away. 

By trying to push Jaime away for the sake of the children, however, Brienne has unknowingly unleashed a terrible, terrible war. Everyone starts splashing each other, try drowning one another, and next thing she knows, Jon’s lying on his back, kicking and hitting Brienne with non-stop waves of water. Even Rickon’s taking part in the battle, up in his uncle’s shoulders and yelling at the top of his lungs, giving instructions to his troops in the full-out war against Jaime and Brienne. 

They settle after a few minutes, when they’re all gasping and even the kids confess they’d like to return to dry land. They all swim back, Brienne helping Brandon to reach the shore, and then Jaime hands out towels for everybody. His missing hand and the wet clothes he and Brienne were wearing are no longer anybody’s concerns, as they all sit on the terrace, still laughing, and try to dry their hair and clothes. 

In the end, Jaime sends the kids up to their rooms to change. They all comply, understanding that they cannot go around wearing soaked clothes. Tyrion lingers, taking the time to fold his towel despite the fact that it’ll need to be collected and cleaned by some steward or another. 

“I guess I should apologize,” he whispers when the kids are out of earshot. “I know I was meant to keep them away all day.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Brienne replies immediately--what in the world did Jaime agree with Tyrion, and what conclusions did the younger brother draw? Should she be worried? 

“Yes, there is,” scowls Jaime. “So now go upstairs and give us a minute.” 

In any normal circumstances, Tyrion would have argued being addressed and manhandled like that by his brother, but Brienne’s shocked to see Tyrion bowing his head at her and entering the Mansion after the kids. 

By the time she turns around, Jaime’s got his arms around her figure, kissing her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“You know, your children returning earlier than expected, especially because one of them is feeling sick and coming back was the wise thing to do, does not warrant your own brother being treated like that,” she points out. 

“He’ll survive. Stop worrying about everyone else, Miss Tarth, I’m trying to say something here.” 

“I already know what you’re going to say,” she interjects, turning in his arms to face Jaime, who gives her a confused look. She laughs--what other subject could he want to discuss right now, pray the Forgotten Gods? “And it’s okay, really. There’s no rush. Before we make any kind of commitment. . .” 

“Trust me, I _want_ to commit,” he promises, confident and genuine. 

“Before that, we should talk,” Brienne insists. This is all so complicated and messed up that she shivers at simply thinking what on the Forgotten Gods’ name is going to happen next. Going straight to sex, however dreadful and exciting it could have been, wouldn’t have helped unscramble the situation. “There’s a lot at stake here.” 

“Oh, please. The children? They’d be thrilled to. . .” 

“Yes, the children, for one part. But it’s not only them. We really need to sit down and discuss things.” 

Jaime looks at her in the eye for all of five seconds, and then nods once. He must realize as well it’s not as easy a situation as they’d like. They’re both adults and have their own lives to take care of to begin with. He takes her hand and kisses her palm, softly. 

“Should we sleep on it?” 

Thanking him for understanding, Brienne smiles and gives him a proper, however brief, kiss on the lips. “Let’s,” she agrees. 

She’s the first to pull away, even though for a second there Jaime does try to retain her as long as possible. He lets her go in the end, however, and Brienne does hear the sigh of regret behind her back when he releases her hand and allows her to enter the Mansion as well. 

They’re acting as if teenagers in love for the first time in the eve of their separation, Brienne sighs, fighting a roll of eyes as long as Jaime can see her still. It seems that she did come back to make a fool out of herself, after all. 

Upstairs in her room, Brienne takes five minutes to collect herself. Apart from changing into dry clothes, she also needs to make those blushing cheeks return to their normal color, stop smiling whenever she thinks of Jaime, of the things they’ve said, the things they’ve _done_ down there. Also, she needs to stop humming the ‘Something good’ song they’ve sung together. She needs to gather her thoughts and act like the governess she was hired to be, or at the very least, an adult, in front of the children. 

She takes the time to call home, as well. Talking to Selwyn and Podrick, who right now are playing board games, does help her simmer down and settle. A reminder of why she came to Salzburg in the first place--which wasn’t to find romance--and the family who directly depends on her income. Yes, having a ten-minute conversation with Podrick and her father does help her remember her place and collect herself. 

When she leaves her room, she goes to the children’s room to see that they are changing into dry clothes too, and she checks on Arya. She _is_ running a fever, but after she heard her siblings and Father having fun at the lake, there’s no force on Earth able to keep the girl on bedrest. Jaime’s shocked to see her out of bed too, but Brienne and the older siblings can only shrug at that--he should try to talk Arya out of anything. 

“I’m starving,” complains Gendry then. 

“Where’s Franz?” asks Sansa then. They haven’t met any of the household members whatsoever since their return, as a matter of fact, and now it’s Brienne who raises an eyebrow at Jaime for his poor planning. 

“They’re taking a day off,” explains Jaime, a bit uncomfortable, fighting the urge to exchange one look with Brienne that would most certainly tip the children off and give them away after five minutes of struggle.

“What about lunch?” shrieks Rickon--and complains from all the kids raise as well. They could care less about stolen glances between their Father and Fräulein Brienne, food is the only thing they can think of right now. Whatever Tyrion has had them spending the morning in, has left them starving. 

“Give me five minutes and I’ll order pizzas,” suggests Jaime, already taking his cell phone. 

“Come on, no need to be so melodramatic,” chuckles Brienne. “I’m sure there’s food in the kitchen, and that we can manage to fend for ourselves.” 

The kids lead the way and, behind them, Brienne takes the cell phone from Jamie’s hands and puts it back in its jacket’s pocket, just to prove her point--no take-out will be necessary today, thank you very much. Only too late does she remember Tyrion’s presence there and she starts blushing furiously. Just to escape Jaime’s and Tyrion’s looks, Brienne runs to Rickon and takes him on her shoulders. 

“Hey, you’re not going to tell me what you did all morning in Salzburg?” she asks. She can definitely feel Jaime’s eyes on her back and, when she peeks over her shoulder, he gives her an incredulous smile, letting her know her theatricals aren’t that good. 

Either way, it’s best if Brienne stays with the kids, and she does not release Rickon until they get to the kitchen. The quiet is almost unnerving, and Jaime feels awkward stepping inside when there are no kitchen or maids whatsoever--not even the usual smell of good cuisine that would normally fill the kitchen at this hour. 

“Okay, so what’s it going to be?” Jaime asks. 

By his side, Brienne claps her hands a couple of times. “Listen up, everybody.” 

“We’ll fetch some bread, tomatoes, and oil,” says Gendry, pointing at Arya and himself, before they set off running across the kitchen. 

“Knives and cutting board,” nods Jon, raising his hand in the air. 

“We’ll see what cold meat we can find,” adds Sansa, taking Rickon’s and Brandon’s hands. 

“Setting up the table!” finishes Robb. Next second, he opens a cabinet, counts ten dishes, and carries them over to the table. By then, Jon’s got the knives and cutting board on the countertop and helps Robb out carrying glasses and napkins to the table, whereas Gendry and Arya clear out some space over the countertop for Brienne. 

She’s rolling up the sleeves of her dress already, smiling proudly at the show in front of her unfolding without her even taking charge. They all remember last time. 

“For you, Fräulein,” says Rickon, handing her an apron per Sansa’s recommendation. 

“Well, thank you,” she appreciates, and follows Rickon over to the countertop. By the corner of her eye, she catches Jaime looking over his children with shock and awe. “Watch and learn, Mr. Lannister,” she utters, in a dare. “Maybe tomorrow we can try to cook pasta.” 

“You set them up to this,” he accuses her. “You’ve practiced this!” 

She shrugs at him, without giving any straight answer, and heads over the counter in order to, with Robb’s help, slice ten pieces of bread to prepare sandwiches for everybody. Brienne didn’t put anyone up to anything--all seven children knew what to do and felt comfortable enough fulfilling their tasks, just so they wouldn’t starve to death. 

Over the other side of the table, Jaime keeps sending her these strange and admiring looks as he eats the sandwich he’s been delivered. He wanted discipline, but using the kind of dictatorship he demanded of, he’d never gotten such a gratifying result as the one they’re eating right now. So, all she’s done was what he allowed her to do, just be herself, just letting the children be themselves, and this is the result. 

Perhaps Jaime’s right when he said the kids would accept her into the family without any kind of fuss. She doesn’t doubt Jaime’s word, or the appreciation the kids seem to have towards her. It’s just, there’s still a lot to figure out int he equation. 

They make a second sandwich for Jamie, Jon, Robb, Brienne, and Tyrion, and after that, they send Arya off to her bedroom, for she almost fell asleep over her plate, and Gendry joins her. The remaining family members wash the dishes and clear out the table--this time, Jaime helps out as well, just so no one in the family, much less Brienne, argues that he’s slacking off. 

“Speaking of work, get your notebooks and textbooks,” says Brienne then, addressing the children. “Time to do some homework.” 

She gets some rolls of eyes and groans upon her suggestion, but they’re not comfortable enough around their Father just yet to complain about doing some of their most impending duties, so the five kids file out of the kitchen in silence. Tyrion also excuses himself, albeit if asked, Brienne couldn’t remember what Tyrion’s up to--she’s got only eyes for Jaime, at the end of the kitchen, rolling down his sleeves after washing the dishes. She steps up to give him a hand, in spite of knowing he can handle himself. 

When she buttons the shirt by his wrist, she takes Jaime’s hand to her lips, and only then does she look up at Jaime. He’s looking at her with love and devotion Brienne’s never seen in his eyes, and next thing she knows, he’s pulling her in for a real, soft kiss on the lips. 

After a second, she’s the first to step back. They really need to set some rules--or just plain and simple common sense--if they wish to keep up the pretense in front of the kids, the household staff, or Tyrion. 

“I’ll keep the kids out of your way for the afternoon,” promises Brienne. After all, Jaime spends hours at a time working, and today he’s barely had any time to read the newspapers. She wouldn’t want him turning in late for the night to make up for lost time and screw his sleeping schedules. Even worse, it’d lead to them not having the opportunity to ponder and discuss everything they need to talk about, and that is something they cannot allow to happen. 

Without waiting for an answer from the man, Brienne leaves the kitchen. The kids are already settled at the terrace waiting for her, and so she just takes the chair by Rickon’s side. She won’t deny that Robb, Jon or Sansa might need help with their homework as well, but their level of mathematics, statistics, and physics is just too much for Brienne, they’ll have to figure it out by themselves. 

They get about fifteen minutes of homework before their first interruption. 

“How’re we all doing?” Jaime asks, by her back. Brienne jumps off her seat, in shock. When she said she’d take care of the kids for the afternoon, she also meant that Jaime should keep his distance from them all. For her sake, if no other reason. 

But the man didn’t quite get that part, she scowls. He comes in carrying a laptop, many folders, his cell phone and a few pens under his arm, and settles in front of Brienne, a smug look on his eyes. Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. From the moment she stepped foot in this mansion, he enjoyed teasing her, arguing with her, and putting her on edge. Only, it now comes from--does she dare say love? 

“You want to know how I’m doing? I’ve come to the conclusion that I hate maths,” scowls Robb, crossing his arms over his textbook. 

“Oh, well, you’re not the only one,” chuckles Jaime. “About five out of four people confess they’re bad at maths.” 

It takes Brienne and the older siblings way too much time to realize what was wrong with the sentence, and then the kids collectively decide to punish their Father by giving him the silent treatment. They can’t even bring themselves to explain the bad joke to Rickon or Brandon, and everyone just returns to their work, including Jaime. 

Well, correction. Jaime and Brienne try to get some work done, but they can barely focus. There are too many distractions, the main one seated across the table. Every time Brienne looks up, maybe just to catch her breath or rest her eyes, or think about one of those math problems, she catches Jaime looking at her. And every time Jaime looks up to stretch her legs or to stand in order to make a phone call away from the kids, he also finds Brienne looking back at him. Meaningful looks filled with suggestions, with unanswered questions, with passion, and maybe, even love. On all those instances, without fail, Brienne blushes and Jaime sends her a charming smile, sometimes even a wink, before he returns to his work. 

For both of them, it’s a big test of patience and will to keep quiet and not sending the kids away at some point so they can have the discussion they so clearly want to have. But they don’t--whenever the thought pops up in Jaime’s mind, because she can clearly see it in his eyes and expression, Brienne shakes her head vehemently. 

Unbelievable as it sounds, they make it through the afternoon, and when it’s time for the kids to change for dinner, Brienne follows them inside as to avoid being alone with Jaime again. Arya’s feeling well enough to eat dinner, or it’d be more appropriate to say that she never misses any meals at all, and so all seven children join Jaime and Tyrion downstairs. The household staff has returned at some point, and they enjoy a delicious soup and steak. Now that the kids no longer need to keep quiet during their study session, they save the day while talking about everything and anything at all with their Father, their uncle, and also Fräulein Tarth. That doesn’t stop Jaime or Brienne from stealing glances across the dining room all dinner long, though. 

When they go through, just to keep busy, Brienne drops to the floor to read for a bit. She knows that Jaime will probably enjoy her reading as much as the kids, and true enough, she can feel his eyes on her neck the whole time. After finishing Tom Sawyer, they moved on with Moby Dick and are now onto Matilda, by Roald Dahl. 

“Time for bed,” says Brienne at the usual hour--she did not cut short the children’s excitement for the few extra minutes she could have gotten with Jaime. The man didn’t either, after all. He’ll spoil rotten all those kids for as long as he can. 

The kids don’t argue about curfew and stand slowly around the living room. Jaime does stand as well, to give Brienne a hand up, and she takes it. There’s nothing wrong with accepting a chivalry treatment from the man, is there? 

But Jaime had more intentions planned other than helping her up. 

“Let me tuck them in,” he whispers. Tyrion’s keeping the kids busy with some story or another by the corner, and not a single one of them looks over to her or their Father. 

“Oh?” she asks, a bit confused. 

“I think I need to talk to them.” 

At that, Brienne stutters, feeling a rush of blood coming to her cheeks. He can’t possibly mean talking the kids about the two of them when they haven’t even had the time to discuss. . .

“About Baroness Cersei,” Jaime explains, biting his lower lip to fight off a laughing fit upon her nervousness. Now that he mentions the Baroness, Brienne realizes no one has even raised any questions about her absence at all. The kids really didn’t like the woman--no surprises there, she’s afraid. “They need to know that there’ll be no wedding.” 

Slowly, Jaime releases her hand. Brienne takes the book and sits on the couch as Jaime bargains with his children that it’s time for bed. In a reverse of roles, tonight she’s the one to stay back in the living room and wave goodnight at the children as the seven file outside the room, following their Father upstairs. 

After they’re gone, and a strange feeling of uneasiness and impropriety fills Brienne’s system because of her employer doing the work she was hired to do, Tyrion stands from his couch as well and finishes his drink. 

“Well, I believe I should welcome you into the family, shouldn’t I?” 

Brienne spins in shock. What in the name of the Seven? 

“Whatever Jaime has told you. . .” 

“Oh, dear Gods, you really _are_ two of a kind,” scowls Tyrion. He fills two glasses with wine and then sits by Brienne’s side, handing her a glass, smiling reassuringly at her. “He didn’t have to tell me anything. I’ve got two functioning eyes, you know. I did notice Baroness Cersei’s departure, even if the children didn’t, or pretend that they didn’t. I’ve also seen how you and my brother behave whenever you’re in the same room together. It’s clear as day, Brienne--the only question is how you two managed to be so oblivious for so long.” 

“The thing--” 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Tyrion waves away her excuses with his hand. “I’m just glad that my brother finally saw reason, and to be able to say, without lying or pretending, that it’s so nice welcoming you into the family. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.” 

“There’re still some things to figure out. . .” says Brienne. 

“Everything will be fine,” Tyrion promises softly, without the shred of doubt, showing complete faith in the two of them, faith that Brienne doesn’t share, not by a long shot. “But I think it’s time for me to turn in for the night too, so you two can have some time alone to figure all those details out.”

Winking at her, he gives her a soft peck on the cheek, making Brienne blush at Tyrion truly welcoming her into the family even before she and Jaime have settled anything. Well, here’s the living proof she’ll have little to no defiance amongst the members of this family, she reckons, albeit the household staff might be another uphill battle whatsoever. 

Tyrion then pats her shoulder with tender and care, and Brienne gives him a silent, appreciative nod. His reassurance has helped her a bit, she’s breathing easier now and could dare to say she’s somewhat ready to face Jaime again. Tyrion lays his glass on the counter and leaves the room, winking at her just before he disappears. 

All alone now, Brienne finishes her drink as well. The clock on the wall ticks annoyingly, and her fingers pick up the pace after a minute, tapping on her knee. 

There’s a sudden burst of celebratory yells and applause, and Brienne smiles. She’d bet her money that Arya’s making the biggest fuss, but honestly, it could be any of the kids, or more accurately, all of them. Jaime can’t truly be surprised that the kids should be so happy upon the Baroness departure and the cancelation of the wedding. 

But five minutes after that, he still hasn’t returned, and Brienne concludes that he’s taking too damn long. She fears he could be telling them too much before Jaime and her talked it through beforehand, giving them false hopes they should not keep in case something went wrong between her and Jaime, and is now regretting not going upstairs to keep him in line. 

Anxiety is proving hard to endure and so Brienne stands to refill her glass. She’s never drunk under this roof, but damn, she needs it today. 

Jaime shows up then. He searches for her at the couch first and then, when he finds Brienne by the counter, drinking wine, he chuckles softly. Closes the door and approaches her, standing side by side, close enough that he can rest his arm on her back. 

“Liquid courage?” 

“Need some?” Brienne retorts. 

“Probably,” grants Jaime, turning around to fix himself a drink too. 

“How was it?” she asks softly--he was too eager to get that glass of wine. 

He tilts his head and sighs deeply, his back still facing Brienne. “Suffice to say, they weren’t too devastated about the engagement to Baroness Cersei being called off.” 

“I see,” nods Brienne--was he truly surprised? She doesn’t want to speak ill of a woman who, on the other hand, didn’t do anything wrong, but Brienne never once saw her interact with the children, nor the children have fun at all around her. Couldn’t Jaime see, or did he just turn a blind eye to all of that too? 

“So that’s settled,” Jaime sums up, trying to cheer himself up. “No more Baroness Schrader around here.” 

“Yes, I suppose,” sighs Brienne, staring deep into her drink. 

“Albeit there’s a perfectly good wedding planned a month from now, and I think the kids wouldn’t oppose the bride being a certain governess from Vienna who sings like the angels and. . .” 

“Jaime,” she interjects, blushing now. “This is one of the things we need to talk about.” 

“Well, that’s why I brought up the subject,” says he. “Should I cancel it all?” 

“Jaime,” she begs again, stepping away from the man. She raises a hand to stop him from saving the distance again, and he comprehends her need of space, staying behind. “Can you put yourself in my shoes and understand that this is too much? We’re going straight to marriage? Are you for real?” 

Jaime’s lips crash onto hers, stopping her rant. “I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, cupping her chin. “Why don’t we start over?”

“Let’s,” begs Brienne, taking a step back to collect her thoughts. “You know I have a life back in--”

No more words follow, for Jaime’s lips find hers again; and, lost in the moment, Brienne’s hands travel up Jaime’s chest, sinking into his hair. She needs a minute to remember what they were doing and what she needs to tell him. 

“Jaime,” she complains for the third time in a row. “I’m trying to say something here.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling back. Oh, but he’s not sorry at all. He’s got that smirk on the corner of his lips to prove so, and before she can stop him, he’s kissing her again, finding access without any kind of defense. 

“We’re not getting much discussed,” Brienne points out when they split for air.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” scowls Jaime, resting his cheek against hers. “Is that what you wanted to do, all those times I caught you staring at me?”

“What did you have in mind, all those times that I caught _you_ staring at _me?”_ she chuckles.

“Why do you have to ask? I’m trying to show you.”

The answer makes her chuckle, and she’s irretrievably lost now. As his hands travel her back, hair, chest, freaking everywhere, Brienne can barely remember anything she wanted to say. She definitely couldn’t come up with a song right now--not even a full sentence. It’s only Jaime and her, the way it was this morning, the way they’ve been yearning for all day long. The way it could have been hadn’t the children reappeared, the way they can pick things up right here and now. 

“Come morning?” she suggests.

“Whenever you want,” grants Jaime. “Except, for now.”

Brienne chuckles against his lips, and she must confess that, given how Jaime’s hands are searching for the zipper of her dress, and how her own hands are searching for Jaime’s shirt’s buttons, they won’t get any talking done tonight. 

She pulls away, or tries to, for Jaime chases after her without truly opening her eyes. 

“It’d be wise if we did this up in your room,” she whispers, shielding Jaime’s chin away from hers. Jaime doesn’t allow her to get far, his arms locking at her lower back. 

“You’re so skilled, I’m sure you can walk and kiss at the same time.” 

“Come on,” presses Brienne, trying to find her way across the room, even with Jaime’s hand on her shoulders, his mouth blowing hot air onto her hair. It’s an antagonizing battle for them both as they go out to the hall, towards the stairs, Brienne hoping to all Gods that they meet no Staff members. 

Jaime follows, but doesn’t exactly work with her. Every few steps he pulls her in, making her take a spin as if they were back at that ball and their Läendler dance, and gives her a kiss. That is accompanied by another wandering trip, trailing her waist, stomach, shoulders, and every time he does, it’s harder for Brienne to push him away. By the time they reach the first floor, a simple realization dawns on her. 

“We’re not making it to your room,” she says. 

“Nope,” Jaime confirms, without sounding too blue about it. He meets her lips again before she dares to argue, instead using the distraction to walk her across the corridor, towards her room. She’s walking backwards, letting Jaime lead her in the semi-darkness--her lips never leaving Jaime’s, one of her arms around his neck, the other working on those forsaken buttons on his shirt. 

She crashes against the wall and she’s out of breath, looking intently into Jaime’s deep, warm, blue eyes. She barely registers the fact that Jaime couldn’t waste the extra seconds to open the door two feet at their left into her dormitory. Jaime’s pinning her hands above her head and she keeps them there even as he releases his hold, to access under her T-shirt--he’s tried to take it off of her on the way up, but this time he goes straight for her bra. Brienne’s certain all the household must be able to hear her ragged breathing by the time Jaime breaks their kiss. 

As Jaime’s taking his sweet time, Brienne lowers her hands to take care of his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and unbuttoning the buttons she’s got access to with their proximity. Not nearly enough area of Jaime’s chest for her taste, but then something else makes her laugh. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asks. Jaime’s struggling under her T-shirt.

“Hey, in my defense, I did lose my right hand,” he scowls. “But don’t worry, I’m an old hand.” 

The horrible pun makes Brienne burst out laughing--she thought she’d be safe from his terrible puns and jokes at least when they were being intimate. 

Something changes upon her boisterous laughter--she’s broken the spell. The urgency forgotten now, Jaime takes one step back to be able to stare up at Brienne as she exudes so much happiness. He used to hear her singing and laughter from the other side of the house, but remained unable to look at the way she tilts her head to one side, the way her freckles dance on her face, the dimples forming on either side of her mouth. Blessed sound, blessed woman. He kisses her, needing to taste that laughter, but that doesn’t manage to stop her, and Jaime starts a giggling fit too. 

After Brienne settles, she kisses Jaime softly on the tip of the nose to wash away the untimely hatred towards that one piece of clothing, and he breathes better already. Next, Brienne leads the way into her bedroom, and Jaime follows, quickly losing his shoes and trousers as soon as he steps beyond the doorstep. 

He sits on the bed, redirecting his attention towards the buttons Brienne left untouched, when he realizes the woman hasn’t followed his suit. She’s just standing there on the window sill, all of her clothes still on and without any urgency of taking them off. The way the moonlight hits her face, her freckles, her smile, and her hair, it’s almost enough to drive Jaime crazy--he fights the urge to stand and senselessly take her clothes off as well. 

“Brinny?” he asks, sounding her of. 

“I--I’m not. . .”

“What is it?” he presses, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wants to stand and go stand right there with Brienne, ease any worries or concerns she may have, but something within tells him that’s the wrong thing to do right now. She just needs a little bit of time.

“I want to do this,” she says. “I’m just not sure. . .” 

Upon her expressing her doubts concerning this whole thing, Jaime jumps off the bed and approaches Brienne. He knows that, just as she did downstairs, space and time might help her collect her thoughts much better than him being so close and pestering her, but he just couldn’t help himslef. He couldn’t keep away while Brienne was so worried. 

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” she confesses in the end. Jaime grabs her hand, as she tried to dismiss her worries, and keeps it against his heart. Can’t she hear it? “Jaime,” she tries to stop his advancing, to no avail, “my point was that I. . . Any expectations you may have. . .”

“I have none,” he replies softly, taking the step that was distancing them. 

“Oh, really,” she scoffs, avoiding his eye.

Jaime cups her cheek, his stump resting on her lower back. The proximity, the warmth of his touch, compels her to face him again. She sees such concern, honesty and seriousness, all his jokes and snide remarks left aside for once, that she cannot not trust Jaime’s words. 

“I haven’t done this in years either, honey,” he says softly, and Brienne hears a hint of her same nervousness and concerns. “I just want to enjoy this time we’ve got together. That’s all. Think we might do that?”

“I. . .”

He doesn’t give Brienne a chance to speak up and go on a rant about how she’s not capable of this. If she’s not emotionally ready, he’ll understand, and he might even thank her for putting a stop to this nonsense. But a lack of confidence in herself won’t be the reason why this won’t happen, if the two of them want it to happen. 

For the brief amount of time she’s known her--barely three months--she’s always looked and acted so fearless, so sure, so certain, it’s strange to see her insecurities and self-doubt coming to the surface now. Almost feels as if the two couldn’t blend together at all: the courageous Brienne and the self-doubting Brienne. Where’s the woman who barged into his room that first week and tried to have a talk about his children? Where’s the woman who wasn’t intimidated at all when he went berserk upon his children meeting Baroness Cersei and instead just went ahead and gave him a piece of her mind?

_She’s right here,_ he sighs. She hasn’t vanished into thin air. It’s the same woman who’s blushing adorably to a degree previously unknown to mankind, leaning against the window sill. So brave out there in order to defend his children, so insecure about herself when it comes down to her wishes and needs. Such a paradox--one that he’s come to love, however, just like mathematicians love to go over unresolved mathematical paradigms and paradoxes. 

Inches away from Brienne’s lips, her hot breath warming his chin, Jaime waits until she’s ready, wrapping her in his arms. She’s said she wants to do this, but if she wants to call this whole thing off for good, he won’t berate her or get upset. There are a number of reasons why this might not work out, however they want it to. He promised this morning that he wants to commit, and that’s true. He also knows that more often than not, life gets in the way. 

At long last--couldn’t have been more than five or ten seconds, but it felt like a century for Jaime’s poor heart--she gives him an answer. Well, that answer takes the shape of her nodding and crashing against his lips, her arms around Jaime’s necks. 

The kiss lasts for as long as they can hold it, and then Jaime kneels to takes her shoes and socks off, then her trousers and, finding no complaints, also her underwear, before meeting her at eye-level again, just to check. Brienne’s blushing so much against the soft, warm bedside lamps, Jaime knows she would melt out of embarrassment if he took her upper clothing too, so he gives her a break--for now, at the very least. He then bends, all while keeping her eyes on Brienne’s tortured face, reading every emotion possible in those eyes. He kneels in front of her, his hand leaving a hot trail of caresses down her spine, waist, and now naked legs. 

“Maybe we should move. . .” she tries to suggest.

He gently bumps against her to stop her from talking.

“Don’t you worry, honey, there’s no one out there to see your beautiful behind, except for me,” he says, resting his hand and his slump on both her cheeks and squeezing playfully. “A shame, really,” he adds as an afterthought, releasing her, gently pushing Brienne so she leans on the window sill. 

“Don’t say that,” she begs.

“What? The truth?” he demands, standing an eyebrow to cock an eyebrow at her. “_Now_ you want me to lie?”

Rolling up Brienne’s T-shirt up to the base of her breasts, needing more of her, needing all of her, Jaime’s lips kiss and taste Brienne’s neck, shoulders, stomach. She answers by taking care of his shirt and undershirt, letting it all drop to the floor, needing to touch as much of his body and skin, as he needs to touch hers. 

“Just. . . Stop making stuff up,” she commands, although she has a hard time finding words. 

Jaime chuckles against Brienne’s stomach, making her chuckle too. “Oh, honey. I am not making any stuff up. You’re so beautiful, I will never be sated.”

“Not sure we have an infinite amount of time here, Jaime,” Brienne replies. “So, let me just lie down and. . .” 

“You stay right here,” commands Jaime, pushing her back as she tried to break free. He returns to his kisses and caresses all over Brienne’s body, to let her forget everything else, to only have his touch and his hands worrying her right now, and soon enough, she’s lost all willpower to push him away. 

He settles under Brienne, his mouth and hands slowly and agonizingly making their way downwards. Brienne’s lost to his touch, but at some point realizes Jaime’s destination and she startles a bit. He keeps her steady, but her hand sinks into his golden hair, hard, prompting an amused chuckle from Jaime at the treatment.

“Jaime, you don’t have to. . .” 

“Oh, trust me, I want to,” he replies, his voice and smile saying ‘I’m dying to taste you, honey’ instead. 

“I’ve never. . .”

“You’re about to. Let me command the ship just this once. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Still uneasy, Brienne releases him and lays both hands by her sides, on the window sill. Jaime smirks--he’ll soon erase that worried look off her face--but keeps his oaths to himself, instead blowing gently into Brienne’s mouth. She shivers at that, only a small taste to what it’s to come, and Jaime introduces his tongue next. Slow at first, Jaime keeps going relentlessly until Brienne should tell him to stop. Her whole body shivers gradually and he leans on her legs to steady the two of them. He looks up at her, wanting to see all the emotions running through her face. 

“Don’t,” he begs. 

Startled at his plea, for she wasn’t doing anything to warrant that prohibition, Brienne looks down at him, befuddled now. The sight of Jaime licking his lips clean off her juices confuses her even more, as he caresses her legs in an attempt to soothe her. 

“Don’t hold back,” he says. “I’m in love with your laughter already, let me fall in love with your moans too.” 

Brienne’s blush simply couldn’t get any redder and she tilts her head. Jaime sees her disposition to refuse him, but his tongue’s faster, and all that escape Brienne’s lips is a moan, not an argument. Her legs shiver at his touch and she leans back, one hand on the window sill, the other shooting up to hold Jaime right where he is. 

“Jaime,” she whispers above his head. 

He can tell the difference, hears the nuance in Brienne’s restrained voice. It’s not a complaint this time, but a plea for him to go faster and deeper, so he uses his fingers too. He’s gentle at first, gauging her reaction to the addendum stimuli, but Brienne’s head snapped back, her eyes closed, drowning in feelings and emotions, so Jaime goes ahead and keeps going. He finds no opposition or complaints as he goes faster and deeper, relentlessly using his tongue and fingers to put her off. One hand, turns out, is more than enough for both of them to fulfill their needs in the bedroom--he is also overjoyed by the moans and yells she tries to swallow back so hard. 

Jaime falls to his knees then, dropping his arm, holding her legs again for steadiness. He’s totally using the advantage point to watch her whole body calm down and the expression on her face after she recovers. No, she’s not in pain or worried anymore, he smirks, standing and kissing her on the lips. Her eyes still closed, her arms reach out for him and rest around his neck.

“You okay?” he asks softly, hoping he didn’t go too far, too fast. 

He kisses her lower lip softly. She realizes that’s the exact spot she was biting on earlier, as hard as she could, in an attempt not to embarrass herself further by moaning or yelling. Right when Jaime begged her not to hold back. Did she bite so hard that she drew blood? 

She checks her lip with her finger--it hurts, but no blood pours out. Jaime kisses her again tenderly and she smiles at him, which is kind of reassuring, although he’d feel much better with a verbal answer. He nudges at her, waiting, but she simply shakes her head. 

“Give me a second to find coherent words,” she begs, hiding her face on the crook of his neck. 

He chuckles, but abides by her wishes and stays silent for a few beats, both of them more than comfortable in each other’s arms, catching their breath, regaining their strength. “You’re not going to write a song about this, are you?” he begs. 

“I’m not sure I could,” she replies, laughing against his neck, making him laugh too. “I’m not sure I could talk about this to anyone.” 

“You don’t have to,” Jaime says in a whisper, cupping her cheek. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to say anything. Just come to bed. I’m not nearly finished with you.”

Brienne chuckles, knowing Jaime spoke nothing but the truth--not a warning, not a threat, just the simple and plain truth. She can feel, after all, his hard rock pressing against her side, and is glad that this isn’t over. Glad that Jaime’s got enough stamina and common sense for this to last more than a couple of awkward minutes and thrusts that became the sum of all of the sexual experiences she's had in the past ten years. She appreciates Jaime taking the time instead to let her truly enjoy their first time together. 

_No, this is definitely not over, _ she agrees, opening her eyes now. She kisses Jaime back, as his hand’s drawing small circles on her lower back, and looks above his shoulder, measuring the distance between their position and the bed, and assessing if she can move yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating of the work because I didn't know where I was going with this chapter until I was right in the middle of it. . . Wouldn't exactly call myself a smut writer so this is the best that I could come up with ! Hope you liked it 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The so-called morning after, which involves lots of cuddles, kisses, tenderness, a talk, and well, yes--interruptions !!

  
_For here you are, standing there, loving me_  
_Whether or not you should._  
_So somewhere in my youth or childhood_  
_I must have done something good._  


Waking up to her own song is strange and beautiful and sweet--she’s got a broad smile on her lips as she comes back from her slumber. Jaime’s caressing her naked back and he stops singing for a brief second to plant a soft kiss on her lips, welcoming her into the world, but he knows she’s just too out of it yet to have a proper talk, so he resumes the song. 

  
_Nothing comes from nothing,_  
_Nothing ever could._  
_So somewhere in my youth... _  


“Or childhood,” Brienne provides, snuggling closer so her nose touches Jaime’s shoulder. He laughs at her small contribution to the song and then they sing the last sentence together. Just like when they sang ‘The Hills Are Alive’, right after Jaime asked her not to leave them, their duet sounds surprisingly good--her mezzo-soprano and his baritone blend together much better than any of them could have imagined. 

_I must have done something good._

“Nothing as good as this,” Brienne dares him, reaching her arm across his chest, feeling it go up and down upon Jaime’s boisterous laughter. 

She finally gathers enough strength her eyes, too much light in the bedroom for her taste. At that moment, she’s painfully aware of her nakedness. She feels the usual warmth in her cheeks as she tries to pull on the sheets to cover her body. 

“Please, don’t,” begs Jaime, a bit irked.

He crawls closer and tugs the sheets from her grip, pulling them down her waist. Brienne crosses her arms and lies flat on the bed to hide her chest and breasts, trying to hide her face too against the pillows. But then, she feels Jaime’s fingers caressing her spine, and then his lips on her shoulders and down her back. It’s unfair, truly, how good Jaime looks just after waking up, the golden sun bathing his hair. Whereas she. . . 

After a few minutes of caresses and warm touch, she starts to relax, and tilts her head to look at Jaime. He’s following his fingers on her body, up and down her spine, as if the words ‘rush’ or ‘time’ has been erased from his vocabulary. But, eventually, he does cross her eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning to kiss her shoulder. “I’ve already seen you. There’s no need to act so shy now, is there?” 

Knowing she’s blushing even further, Brienne comes out of her shelter. She leans on her elbows and assesses the look on Jaime’s eyes, in order to see his reaction, every microexpression on his eyes and face. He doesn’t look at all appalled at her body, he’s got a pleasant and satisfactory smile on his face too, and as he leans to kiss her again, his good hand travels all the way down her back, waist, ass, thighs and up again, just to start all over. 

Jaime’s touch makes Brienne’s strength waver and she drops back on the bed. One arm across Jaime’s chest, the other bent over his pillow, so she can caress that golden hair of his. 

“I cannot believe we just did this.”

“That good, huh?” chuckles Jaime, giving her a peck as compensation for her praise. 

“Tell your ego that it’s time you returned to Earth,” begs Brienne, holding his chin to glare into his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Oh, is that a challenge?” asks Jaime. “I’m sure we can do better. Consider that a test run--” 

Brienne holds his chin and squeezes his cheeks tightly to make him stop babbling. She lands a soft peck on his nose, and his annoyance for her interruption vanishes. “I was just thinking about how much I hated you at the beginning, I never would have thought we’d end up here. If someone had told me, well. . .”

“You’d have had them hung for lunacy?”

“Something like that, yeah,” laughs Brienne.

“But hey, I’ve changed.”

“Of course, you have. If you were still the arrogant bastard I met, we wouldn’t be here right now, trust me. Alas, apparently I like you, now.”

“How _couldn’t_ you, really?” demands Jaime, pulling back so Brienne can take him all in. “My charm, my wit, my looks, this amazing house. . . What’s not to like? Oh, and don’t forget my hilarious jokes.” 

“Don’t even,” scowls Brienne, tilting her head in despair. “We’re going to start talking about ground rules, and those jokes are the first item on the list. Where do you get all those forsakenly lame jokes from, anyway?” 

“Oh, I’ve got a few more in store, I promise.”

Brienne hurries to kiss him, just as to stop Jaime from uttering a single syllable of any of those terrible jokes. He’d break the enchantment, and she’s enjoyed their time together up here in her room so much up until now. . . 

“Save them for your children,” she suggests. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear them.”

“_Our_ children,” Jaime corrects without thinking, almost automatically. Brienne freezes, hoping Jaime to make a joke out of the stupid sentence he’s just said, but he looks deadpan serious. He just saves the situation by changing the subject altogether. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to hear a joke about paper?” 

“No, I don’t,” promises Brienne, her throat still dry.

“Nevermind, then. It was tearable anyway,” replies Jaime. Brienne rolls her eyes but ends up laughing at the stupidity of the pun--thanking Jaime at the same time for keeping her mind distracted from his tongue slip earlier. 

She simply rests her head on the pillow, closing her eyes. “Congratulations, Jaime. You’ve managed to make me regret every single decision I’ve made since yesterday morning.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. His voice soft, the weight of the bed shifts as Jaime changes positions to lie face-down, so his eyes rest right in front of Brienne’s. She could hear an underlying fear from Jaime’s reply, as if he could still think she could really regret what’s just happened. She doesn’t, of course. It was just too early to joke about it. 

Regretting now her joke, she reaches out a hand to his cheek. He leans at her touch, still waiting for her answer, anxiousness in his eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she confesses softly, giving him a brief kiss. 

They lie side to side, smiling with a mixture of pride and relief and self-assurance. Jaime hides his stump under the pillow as he caresses Brienne’s hair under the glaring sun, whereas Brienne’s hand lands on Jaime’s cheek, drawing small circles, her fingers tangled in his hair. She almost grabs that stump, just as he did earlier, presenting her naked, but she wouldn’t force his arm. Instead, her free hand just lays in front of them both, close to Jaime’s chest, hoping to feel just as an erratic heartbeat as the one beating in her own ribcage. 

“So. . . What now?” she asks after what feels like days. She blushes even to think about getting out of her dorm and meeting the kids, or the staff members. As if he could read her thoughts, Jaime giggles, his hand traveling down to her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze. 

The moment, however, is kind of ruined when Brienne’s stomach grumbles out of nowhere. Jaime’s fingers stop their trail on her skin, as one mortified Brienne pulls the sheets up to hide from sight, and on the other side, Jaime starts laughing, shifting his weight on the bed. 

“I clearly don’t take good enough care of you,” he muses. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry anymore, because I want to die,” she replies. 

She feels Jaime lying by her side, and when he talks, his voice is much closer than she’d expected, just a soft whisper into her ear, full of meaning, full of love. “Please, don’t die on me now. We’re finally here, after all this time, and you say you regret everything and that you want to die? What is this poor, foolish man to believe now?” 

Terrified that she’s saying and doing all of the wrong things this morning, even though she woke up over the moon and euphoric, Brienne doesn’t dare to come out from under the sheets. And then Jaime leaves the bed, which just makes her panic. 

No words come to her rescue, though, and she sits there, in disbelief, as Jaime, sitting on the edge of the bed, puts on his boxers and T-shirt. She reaches out a shaky hand, only too late, for Jaime stands then, out of touch for her. 

“Jaime,” she calls him out. 

He looks over his shoulder and with those soft eyes, all her fears are forgotten. He smiles broadly at her across the room, beaming at his success to get her out of her shelter of sheets, as he heads over to the mini bar. She’s got no food in there, but she’ll take the bottles of water he carries back to bed. Playfully, he rests one against her cheek, the coldness making her shiver, before he kisses her forehead. 

“You silly,” he chuckles upon her concern, before he drops dead by her side. 

They drink almost half of their bottles in silence, leaning against the wall, Brienne pulling the sheets up to her chest. It is getting kind of late, the sun through the windows getting hotter and hotter by the minute. Certainly, it’s later than Jaime’s usual schedules, and Brienne guesses there won’t be any time for her jogging, today. Not that she hasn’t done more than enough exercie with Jaime this past night to compensate. 

“So. . . What now?” Jaime asks again after a while, gently bumping her side. “I seem to remember you saying we needed to talk. . .”

“Yes,” she nods, screwing in her bottle of water and dropping it on the bedside table. Jaime groans at the change of disposition, for now Brienne looks and sounds all business-like. But he does like that side of hers. He likes all of Brienne’s sides, to be honest, and turns to face Brienne as if in a business meeting--only, they’re slightly more naked than in his usual meetings at the company. “You may have wondered about my life back in Vienna. . .”

“Constantly,” he promises, letting his hand wander north and south Brienne’s naked legs. 

“Well, it’s not the same life you’ve got here.”

“I thought as much,” Jaime reckons, tilting his head. 

“The thing is. . .” she stutters, doubtful all of a sudden. “There’s my father, for one. His medical condition isn’t great. I need to take care of and provide for him. That’s why. . .”

“That’s why you stayed and endured all I put you through,” he finishes for her the sentence she didn’t dare to utter. His hand stops his traveling on her body, too, as to show the seriousness of his statement and the situation. She does not need an apology--she can see how sorry he is. 

“Kind of, yeah,” she confesses. Jaime nods, understanding now why Brienne didn’t quit when any other sane person in the world would have, but has a hard time swallowing the tight knot forming in his throat. Brienne solves the conundrum by giving him a brief kiss, giving Jaime air to breathe again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, taking her hand and kissing her palm. 

“No need to dwell on it,” says Brienne. 

“I can keep apologizing.” 

“No, you don’t,” she insists. 

“Maybe one of my jokes would suffice?”

“You dare make another pun right now, your sins will never be forgiven,” Brienne warns, using the stern voice she only addresses the kids when they’re acting really stubborn. Understanding he’s stepping over the line, Jaime nods to prove he’s going to behave from now on. “As I was saying, my father’s condition--” 

“Say no more. How much money do you need?”

“Jaime,” she scowls. “It’s enough with what you pay me.”

“Well, that won’t work, will it?” he scowls, struggling to a sitting position too. “You won’t be staying here as a governess no longer. I will not have you here because I pay you to. Whether we marry or not, whether we make it official today or down the line, you should and must think of my resources and assets as your own. So, I ask you again--”

“I’m not sure your company can afford it,” she scowls, making Jaime freeze in turn, eyebrows frowned. 

“How do you know--?”

“I read,” she says simply, caressing Jaime’s hair tenderly--her turn to soothe his worries. 

“Well, whatever you think you know, I promise you, it’s not as bad as it seems,” scowls Jaime, clearly a sore subject he didn’t wish to engage today throughout their arguing and making plans for the future. “And anyway, we were talking about you and your father.”

“I don’t know, Jaime,” sighs Brienne, knowing she was avoiding that subject too. “I can’t just take your family’s fortune. You cannot expect me to rearrange my whole life right here and now--”

He stops her ranting with a soft kiss, and just like yesterday night, her worse fears vanish. He can feel the change in Brienne, the way her muscles and her whole body relaxes, against his kiss, her hands holding him there for as much as he allows. He smiles against her lips when he, eventually, pulls away. 

“It’s okay. There’s time to figure it all out,” he says softly, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Yes,” she nods, breathing in his scent, not opening her eyes for a few lingering seconds yet. 

“May I make a suggestion?” says Jaime, pulling back. “Why don’t we go to Vienna in a couple of days, after all the news have settled a bit? Let me meet your father, discuss it all with him too?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she agrees, grabbing Jaime’s hand softly. 

They entwine their fingers and Brienne looks down on them, allowing Jaime to rest his head against her shoulder. 

pondering for a brief second. Caressing his skin, trailing up and down each knuckle, dawning on the manicured nails, she ponders for a second, her caresses freezing only slightly over that ring finger. She pictures a simple enough--given her assets--and yet sparkling little gold ring in there, on the spot left years ago by another engagement and wedding ring from another woman who gave him all of five children. 

Could she do it? Is she truly ready? Is Jaime? 

_Isn’t that why you abandoned your family again, back in Salzburg? _

She blushes, dropping their hands and looking out of the window. Like she said yesterday, it’s way too early to think about these things. They just got together, spent their first night together, that is all. There’ll be time. There’s no rush to tell the kids, tell her father nor Podrick nor Margaery, nor the house staff or the whole damn world. Just. . . One step at a time. 

“Hey,” Jaime coaxes her, with that soft, deep-from-his throat voice of hers that simply compels her to look back at him. He meets her with a tender kiss on the nose, cupping her chin. “My real suggestion is, let’s not stress out. Let’s just enjoy this. 

“Think we might do that?” 

Brienne nods in agreement, relieved, despite her own fears, to see that Jaime’s thoughts mirrored hers. He’s just as scared and uncertain as she is. And, above all, he’s right. They should take it one step at a time. No need to worry over the future when the end of summer is so far, far away. 

Well, dammit, their time has run out, however. Down the hall, doors start opening and closing, and they hear the running of at least five kids racing each other to get to the kitchen. Startled, Brienne turns around to check what she already knows: it’s incredibly late. 

“Oh, no,” she groans. 

This time, Brienne does let out a yelp, as she jumps off the bed, struggling to take the sheets to cover her body and kneeling in order to fetch her clothes. She’s in such a hurry that she simply cannot do two things at the same time correctly, which means that the sheets end up on the floor time and time again, whenever she tries to pick up her clothes. 

“Damitdamitdamitdamitdamit,” she keeps scowling. 

Back in bed, Jaime just chuckles at her anxiety and horror. When she looks up, Brienne finds out that he hasn’t even made the effort to leave the bed and search for his clothes too. 

“Dress up!” she commands, throwing at him his shirt, and hitting the target, his face, with uncanny precision. He just keeps laughing, however, and scoops to the end of the bed. “I’m serious, Jaime. All your seven children are down the hall and we’re butt naked! I’m sure it’s not my place as a governess to give them nightmares!” 

At that, Jaime grabs her by the arms and forces to face him. Try as she might, he doesn’t release her, and after a few seconds, Brienne stops struggling--figuring that’s the quickest way for Jaime to let her go. He then caresses her arms and blows the hair out of her face. 

“Don’t call yourself that,” he scowls. “You’re so much more than a governess, now.” 

“That’s your biggest concern?” shrieks Brienne, pushing his chest. “Jaime, your kids--” 

“It’s going to be okay,” he says softly. 

“Yes, it will be, if you get dressed and get out of here without any of the kids--” 

This time he stands, and Brienne’s trail of thoughts is forgotten. “I know you don’t want to have that conversation with them just yet, and I understand that, but it’s going to be alright, Brinny, I promise. Today, tomorrow, and whenever we tell them.” 

Brienne scoffs and tries to push Jaime away, but he just tilts his head, amused, and Brienne’s struggles cease. Next thing she knows, they’re kissing, and Jaime’s trying to pull her back to bed. 

“No,” she stops him, holding her ground before he gets her on the bed. That’s a line she won’t be crossing again this morning.

“Come on,” he laughs against her lips. 

“I need to jump into the shower,” she complains. 

“Maybe I could join you. Speed things up a little,” he suggests. 

“Oh, if you joined me, I don’t know what you’d do, but I’m sure it _wouldn’t_ speed things up,” scowls Brienne, amused. She cannot find the strength necessary to leave Jaime’s arms and head for the bathroom. There’s still one more thing they haven’t discussed; however, that answer comes easily, too, and she blushes scarlet red as she says the words--didn’t they just agree they should take things slow? “And. . . Don’t cancel the wedding. Not just yet. We never know.” 

If Jaime’s at all surprised by her way of being prudent and cautious, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your wish is my command,” accepts Jaime, kissing her just one last time. “Whatever you want, I’m in.” 

Because she knows she’s blushing worse than Jaime’s ever seen her blush before, Brienne just shakes her head and runs off to the bathroom without another word. She’ll have to make do with a five-minute shower, provided that Mia or Emma, maybe even Tyrion, can keep the children occupied for a few extra minutes. All she can hope for right now is that Jaime’ll be smart enough to get dressed and get out of her bedroom without being seen by either the children or any household members. 

_Oh, hoping is truly for fools,_ Brienne scowls, ten minutes later, when she comes out of the bathroom. For Jaime’s still there. He’s dressed, at the very least, but he’s sitting on her desk, flicking through the books she’s got. 

“Will you please, for the sake of the Seven, leave?” she shrieks. 

“I tried,” he promises, putting down the last book. “I really did, but I found out that I couldn’t.” 

“Well, you better make a bigger effort, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne settles, close to the door, one hand around the doorknob already. “Because you’re going to be left alone here.” 

Jaime stands at that, almost jumped off the chair. 

“I couldn’t leave without getting one last, final, farewell kiss,” he says, leaning on the door Brienne was trying to get open so he can kiss her again. Brienne cannot find it in herself to stop him, and Jaime seizes the chance to make it last for as long as he’s allowed to. 

“You’re making it very difficult,” complains Brienne. 

“Like I said yesterday--all’s fair in love and war,” Jaime winks at her, not at all sorry or ashamed for his teenage-like behavior this morning. He’s enjoying the situation, he is. “We could send the kids away. Spend all day long in bed.” 

As if to make sure Brienne knows what activities the day in bed would entail, Jaime starts unbuttoning Brienne’s shirt. Only when open air makes Brienne shiver and her skin gets goosebumps, does she push Jaime away and buttons her shirt up again, covering her breasts from view and blushing at the look on Jaime’s face. 

“But we’re not sending the kids away for a few more minutes of pleasure,” she says. 

“Minutes?” Jaime asks, raising a daring eyebrow, and Brienne does giggle. 

“No,” she forbids vehemently, raising a hand between them. “You are going to your bedroom to take a shower. And when you come downstairs, you’re going to pretend you’ve spent the morning working, per usual, and that work will keep you at home while we go do whatever the kids would like to do outdoors today.” 

“You’re not leaving!” Jaime shrieks, appalled at the idea. 

“I think it’s for the best.” 

“Are the children done with all their homework? I needn’t remind you, Fräulein, that their classes start in just a few more days.” 

“Oh, staying here would only lead to a repeat of yesterday’s evening,” scowls Brienne. 

“Stolen glances from across the room, you blushing adorably every time I caught you staring, me fumbling for words at every phone call I had to do. . .” Jaime lists, resting against the door, arms crossed, to prevent Brienne from throwing him out. “What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Tell me, Mr. Lannister, how much work did you get done yesterday?” 

“Not much,” he grants immediately, without the shred of embarrassment. 

“Exactly my point,” confirms Brienne. “Now, I think I better go and make sure the kids don’t start a riot.” 

She pushes Jaime out of the way and opens the door for him. After a few beats, Jaime gives up, sighs deeply, and gives her a peck on the cheek as a farewell. Brienne makes sure he’s headed upstairs before she leaves her chambers, too. 

Her first order of business: to check the kids’ bedrooms. She doesn’t give herself a minute before checking in on them, for a minute would have left to five, and then to ten, and maybe she’d have gone searching for Jaime again. No, she was certain that hunger wouldn’t have been a good enough incentive to get everybody out of their beds, and she’s proven right: Rickon, Brandon, and Arya are still in bed, enjoying a lazy late morning. 

“Come on, kids. Time to wake up,” she coaxes them. 

“Fräulein!” everyone greets her, way too eager and happy given the hour. 

As she pulls on the curtains and the sunlight floods the bedrooms, they give up on sleep altogether. Arya throws her pillows up into the air and starts bouncing on her bed, yelling and cheering, and Brandon joins her jumping from his bed. 

“Hey, careful there!” scowls Brienne in panic. “You’ll break your necks!” 

They don’t listen to her as they engage a pillow fight, chanting war cries, and yelling her name and title over and over and over again. What the hell did they drink last night before going to bed to have such energy and to be in such a good mood? This is beyond bizarre. 

“Fräulein!!” Rickon greets her, hugging her tightly. She corresponds the gesture, surprised beyond belief. Such happiness from any of the kids upon her waking them up is weird and unprecedented. What in the world. . .? Is this Jaime’s doing? It feels like this is Jaime’s doing, and she’ll have a long talk with him before too long. 

“Breakfast?” she suggests. 

“Okay,” the three of them accept, and they leave their beds, knowing the routine: wash their faces and hands, brush their teeth, comb their hair, change into regular clothes. In the meantime Brienne busies herself by making the beds, trying to get her hands to stop shivering. 

Downstairs, the elder kids are almost through with their own breakfasts, but they have prepared toasts and cereals for their siblings. Well, there’s a fourth plate prepared, plus a mug of coffee in front of it, and Brienne freezes for a second. Robb and Jon only drink coffee very occasionally, and it seems they’ve taken milk today. 

“Morning, Fräulein,” they all greet upon her stepping into the kitchen. It’s too similar a parallelism to that first dinner where they’d placed a pinecone on her chair, which gets Brienne on her nerves. She’s tempted to check her stool before Sansa drags her over to her place. 

“This is for you, Fräulein!” says Gendry jolly, pointing at the bowl of cereals in front of her empty seat, although they know she doesn’t usually eat cereals. 

“You take sugar and milk with your coffee, don’t you?” asks Gendry, standing from his stool to fetch those. 

“And butter and marmalade with your toasts?” adds Jon, standing to fetch those too. 

“Yes, but I am capable of--” 

“Sit down!” all seven kids order her. Upon such vehemence, she does exactly that, allowing for one strange morning the children to serve her. 

No, they’re definitely not upset because of Baroness Cersei, Brienne reckons, slightly amused, as she takes the first bite to her toast. The usual racket and chatter set off immediately, and today they’re in a much better mood than ever before--even the morning after she took them on that excursion and first taught them about music. 

They’re overjoyed with happiness: telling jokes, bursting out laughing, teasing each other, friendly bantering as the siblings they all are. Brienne’s quite satisfied to hear and see them acting the way she’d gotten used to while being around the seven kids, before and even after Mr. Lannister’s trip. Playfully, Arya stains Gendry’s nose with a little bit of marmalade and then scatters away, and Brienne does manage to nip the food fight in the bud before it even begins. 

Given the situation unfolding right before her eyes, she’s almost tempted to test where all this obedience and happiness can lead to, but she decides against doing any experiments. It might burst the bubble she and the kids are in. It’s such a good day to ruin it with her concerns. 

“What are we going to do today, Fräulein?” asks Robb when he jumps off his stool, on his way to carry the dishes over to the sink. Jon and Sansa join him immediately, storing the food and dishes Brienne and the younger siblings will not be needing. 

“Please, don’t say homework,” begs Rickon, hands crossed. 

“Let us enjoy the last few days of summer holidays!” adds Brandon to the plea, a high-pitched voice. 

“Don’t you have homework to finish before school starts?” Brienne points out, trying her best, and probably failing, not to laugh. She would never chain the kids and keep them inside the Mansion so close to them beginning their classes again. 

“Please!” seven voices raise. 

“Fine,” scoffs Brienne, dramatically sighing, as if they’d forced her arm. “Perhaps spending the day outdoors isn’t such a bad idea.” 

Celebration bursts, yells and applause and cheering deafening Brienne. Mia and Emma return to the kitchen, the remnants of the kids’ shenanigan past still all too recent in the household members, but Brienne waves them away with her hand. She does need a second or two to get the children to settle. 

“Thank you, Fräulein!” they yell next. She nods in appreciation, turning around to get her coffee mug and dishes over the sink. To her back, Arya compels her siblings to hurry up and change so they don’t waste any more time. 

The coffee mug disappears from her hands, and Brienne turns towards Jon, Sansa, and Robb, who take care of the remaining dishes. As Brienne still needs to talk to Emma and Mia about today’s luncheon, she sits back on her stool--knowing that the three Lannister children wish to tell her something, just like that one night before their Father got back from Vienna with Tyrion and Baroness Schraeder. 

Done with the dishes, they dry their hands on a couple of cloths as they turn towards Brienne, who wishes she could take another coffee just to keep her hands busy with something. 

“Fräulein, on behalf of our brothers and sisters, we wanted to--”

“To thank you, that is,” Jon finishes the sentence Robb was struggling with--just as asking permission and forgiveness, thanking was a lesson Brienne did need to remind the Lannister kids with. 

“And not only for the day out,” Sansa points out. “For. . . For Father, and. . .” 

_Oh, that’s what it is, then,_ sighs Brienne. The reason the kids have been so nice to her this morning. In retrospection, she can understand the confusion, but they got it all wrong this time. 

“You’re mistaken,” she stops them with a warm smile. “I had nothing to do with that.” 

“But. . . But you talked to Father,” Robb says, a bit confused now. “After I asked you to.” 

“And I made it abundantly clear that I would do nothing of that sort,” Brienne reminds him, simple and honest. “I’m sorry if this answer disappoints you, but your Father calling off the engagement and Baroness Cersei leaving, that was all your Father. I didn’t mingle in matters I had no saying in.” 

The three teenagers are very much doubtful of her words, exchanging silent, shocked looks with each other--this would be the first time, ever since Brienne came to the Mansion, that Jaime did something for the kids motu proprio, without needing to be told to do so beforehand. However, even if they don’t believe her, she’s said nothing but the truth in that regard. 

“Well, even if that’s the case. . .” Jon starts. 

“You’ve done so much for us all since you came here,” Sansa picks up. 

“A thank you was long overdue,” agrees Robb, bowing his head at Brienne. She smiles and, against her will, blushes at the treatment and praise. 

“You’re more than welcome,” she says fondly. “I’m beyond exultant that you’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, so far. I truly hope you’ll feel the same by the end of the summer.” 

“Wait,” begs Robb. 

“You are not leaving, are you, Fräulein?” asks Sansa in a whimper. 

Oh, dammit. She really ruined it, Brienne fears. Exactly what she’d vowed not to do today. She can only think of one way out of this conundrum. “You know I was hired to fulfill a governess post for the summer holidays. What happens from then on, it’ll depend on your father. 

“Now, stop wasting time by flattering me and go change, will you?” she demands before they insist on questions and complaints. 

Laughing, the two boys and the girl dash off. Their giggles can still be heard as they climb the stairs, and Brienne sighs. She never came here for the merit--the money Mr. Lannister offered was the only reason to leave Vienna and her family and to stay in spite of all his abuse and stupidity at the beginning--but she cannot be but satisfied concerning the progress all the kids have shown. 

“You’re going to take a picnic, then, I gather?” Mia asks at her back. 

“I’m sorry for the short notice,” Brienne apologizes. “We can buy something--” 

“Nonsense! Just give us five minutes,” the cook promises, waving at Brienne to sit again, as Emma has already entered the pantry room. 

However, Brienne cannot just idly wait for the cooks to prepare their picnic while she sits back with her arms crossed, and as soon as Emma returns with the bread for sandwiches, she gets a knife and starts slicing. In under ten minutes, they’ve prepared sandwiches, fruits, beverages, and snacks for a whole day out. Sansa and Gendry reappear just in time to help Brienne carrying the baskets to the entrance, where the kids were delighted to find she’d left her guitar, purse, and hat in advance. The kids have also gathered blankets, a football, Rickon’s recorder, a few books, Brandon’s book for painting. 

“Do we have everything?” she asks, doing a mental calculus--they should have plenty of entertainment for the day out. 

“Not everyone!” Jaime shrieks from the upper floor. 

Upon hearing his voice, Brienne almost drops her precious guitar. _Oh, no, no, no, no. No way. What is the Seven Hells is he doing?_ If he tripped and fell right now, not exactly a fatal fall, just severe enough for him not to come with them, she wouldn’t damn the Gods exactly. 

The seven children and Brienne turn around as Jaime descends the stairs three steps at a time and lands in front of them, gasping for air. Brienne breathes better when she sees that he has indeed showered and changed, but he’s only wearing black trousers and a white shirt, no ties or vest or jacket to be seen--his usual weekday uniform. 

Her heart skips a beat for another reason entirely. Doesn’t he have a spare hand around? she wonders upon seeing no prosthetic out of his right sleeve. Of course, on second thought, it’d make sense if he didn’t. Jaime would never have predicted that he’d lose his prosthetic in the first place because a governess threw him over a boat and into the lake. 

“Almost didn’t make it,” he gasps. Brienne’s not the only one who has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Mr. Lannister?” 

“I’m joining you,” he says. 

“_You are?”_ all the kids shriek, whereas Brienne knows for a fact that if looks could kill, Jaime would have dropped dead right here and now. What in the name of the Seven has he been drinking? She’s lucky all the children are focused on their Father, for she’s blushing as bad as the sun is. 

Even Franz is peeking from the living room he was cleaning up, shocked at this most extraordinary happenstance of Jaime spending the day outside with the kids and not showing up for work. Brienne drops her head before she crosses eyes with the butler, hoping he does not blame her for Jaime’s decision, or makes any assumptions about her and her employer. She can do without the staff’s judgment for today, thank you very much. 

“You never come with us,” Arya says. 

“A mistake I’m willing to fix, right now,” he replies with a charming smile, winking at the little girl. 

“What about your work?” adds Rickon. 

“You stayed at home yesterday, don’t you have to go to the office today?” asks Robb. 

“Where we’re going, there might not be any cell phone reception,” Sansa points out. 

“The company will survive if I don’t show up for one day,” says Jaime. “What’s the use of being the company’s CEO if I can’t take a day off to spend some quality time with my children now and then?” 

“When was the last time you were ever up in the mountains?” presses Gendry. 

“I believe it’s high time I changed that. Some fresh air and contact with Mother nature will do wonders with my health, and if I’m feeling better, the company itself will grow stronger, too. Don’t you agree, Miss Tarth?” 

For the first time since Jaime met them, the man looks at her straight in the eye, and the mischievous look and grin he addresses her, certainly does things to her core. She pretends to search for something in her baskets, just to break eye contact and to have something to do with her stupid, useless hands. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, Mr. Lannister.” 

He gives her a wicked grin, from his position knelt on the floor, and then addresses the children again. “What do you say?” 

“Yes!” yells Brandon, jumping in the air. 

“Of course!” Arya agrees. 

“Let’s do this!” Robb nods, high-fiving his Father.

“Right on!” approves Jaime. “While we’re at it, I’m going to give you a very important life advice that I need you to understand.” “No, Father, please--” Jon tries to beg--it’s not the first time Jaime’s said those words in that particular order, and it brings nightmares to the poor oldest kids. 

“Never trust people who do acupuncture,” says Jaime nonetheless, a piece of advice that surprises kids and Brienne equally. “They’re all back-stabbers.” 

_Okay, this is definitely a bad idea, and no one will survive today,_ settles Brienne, as the kids all groan and roll their eyes at their Father. Spending all day with Jaime, trying not to blush every time they’re too close or look at each other, or trying not to laugh whenever she hears his laughter, would be hard enough. Putting up with his horrible jokes for a whole day, her nerves won’t take it. 

Gendry, one foot out of the door, eyes his Father suspiciously. “Is this how it’s going to be all day long?” he asks in fright. 

“Why do you sound surprised at all?” replies Jaime, opening the door fully to command the children to file out of the house. Despite their complaints about his terrible jokes, the kids are way too thrilled to really spend a day out with their Father, and don’t need to be told twice before picking up their stuff and leaving the house, little Brandon leading the way. 

Brienne sighs, in spite of the excitement from the kids. There’s no talking Jaime out of this one, not with the children so looking forward to spending the whole day with their Father, for a change: they’re all running after their Father, taking the baskets and Brienne’s guitar without any opposition from her. She would never say or do anything that might bring them down now. Well, Jaime’s won this round, that’s undeniable. 

“Hold on, Jon,” she calls the boy out just before he slips outside. The broad smile, the excitement on his face, are contagious, and Brienne finds herself smiling, too. “Do you remember that. . . Little thing we got for your Father?” 

He tilts his head, equally surprised and elated, now. 

“Should we take it?” 

“Of course,” nods Brienne, stepping aside so Jon can dash off up the stairs. 

Jaime, realizing the absence of one of his offspring and Brienne, has returned to the Mansion and knocks on the double doors. Before he asks anything, Jon, at the top of the stairs, gasps upon seeing his Father there again, blushes and hides his hands behind his back. Brienne closes her eyes with despair--there’s no way Jaime fell for his son’s pitiful theatrics. 

When Jon reaches the ground floor, he just runs off, past his Father, and through the door he still holds open. “Come on, let’s go!” he calls after Jaime and Brienne, when he’s safe and sound back with his siblings. 

Robb opens the fence and allows all the children to leave the Mansion--Jon practically pushes Gendry out of the way. 

“What was that about?” asks Jaime. 

“He forgot something,” Brienne replies, nonchalant. 

She shrugs, hoping Jaime will get the hint and not pursue the interrogation, for she’s not about to spoil the kids’ surprise now of all times. Speaking of them, the children are nowhere to be seen, but they can hear their jokes and laughter from the other side of the fence. . . It wouldn’t seem like the elder siblings had any talk at all with the youngsters. They’re still exuberant about today--although the reason might be their father, this time around. They’re so delighted and happy, actually, that they just burst into singing. 

  
_“Doe,” a deer, a female deer,_  
_“Ray,” a drop of golden sun _  
_“Me,” a name I call myself _  
_“Far,” a long, long way to run _  
_“Sew,” a needle pulling thread _  
_“La,” a note to follow sew _  
_“Tea,” a drink with jam and bread, _  
_That will bring us back to doe! _  


Safely away from the kids, Brienne dares to take and squeeze Jaime’s hand as they cross the main garden, to encourage her, to comfort him, as well. He’s beaming too, and the fact that he’s so damned happy, when she’s so terrified, pisses her off a bit more. 

“And might I just add: very smooth, Mr. Lannister.” 

“What?” he demands, truly at a loss. 

“You inviting yourself over,” scoffs Brienne, pointing at the kids, walking some feet in front of them. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit early?” 

“Hey, I just joined in an excursion out in the gardens with my own children,” Jaime defends himself. “Like a very wise woman said not too long ago, I need to spend more time with them in order to get to know the young men and women they’re becoming. That’s just my plan.” 

“My being around doesn’t hurt, though,” she points out. 

“It might have helped me make the decision, yes,” confesses Jaime without a shred of guilt or embarrassment. “But relax, please, Miss Tarth. I’m not planning on telling them about us, not unless you want me to.” 

“Again, I ask you, isn’t it too early--”

“Is that what you think?” he retorts, pointing at the bunch of children ahead. 

Pursing her lips, Brienne tries to make out what he means exactly. It doesn’t take her too long to figure out. The blaring sun, the children singing, joking, laughing. It’s the ideal day for an excursion. It should be a perfect day. 

Upon the prospect of spending the whole day outside with their Father, the kids couldn’t be happier. And not once have they pointed out that they’d rather spend the day without her, alone with their Father. It’s a good sign, she guesses. 

“Come on,” she laughs, gently bumping against Jaime’s arm. In order to avoid an awkward situation in front of the kids before it happens, Brienne moves away from Jaime’s reach, preventing him from grabbing her hand for the stroll to the bus stop, and just joins the children up ahead--joining their singing, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it ! As I said in previous chapters, the story is now going to deviate (quite a) lot from the original movie ! Bear with me, I pray !


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids, Brienne, and Jaime go on an excursion up to the mountains!  
Many parallels to Ch. 7 !!

“Gendry, I am warning you in advance. If this year your football team doesn’t at least qualify for the interscholar competition, I’ll personally see to it that Father banishes you from sports practices,” says Robb. 

“Hey! I’ll be joining the team next year!” Arya complains. 

“Well, you better knock some sense into that lot, from me, please,” begs Robb. “It’s getting embarrassing.” 

“Have a little faith. . .” sighs Gendry, but Robb keeps talking to Arya. 

“I’m not saying you need to win any championships or anything--no one in this city has such high hopes for the team--” 

“Robb! I’m right here! Stop insulting the team and my friends!” 

“--But, I beg of you, just don’t get disqualified before the competitions,” Robb finishes his plea. 

“We can do that,” agrees Arya. “Not only that, we’re going to knock some sense into all those pretentious teams who’ve beaten us in the past years.” 

“Atta girl,” approves Robb. 

“You first need to try out and the captain has to accept you,” Gendry points out--just to save a speck of dignity. “And I’m promising this beforehand: I will _not_ put in a good word for you if you make a fool out of yourself.” 

“Please,” scoffs Arya. 

“With her level? They’ll be begging her to join in,” chuckles Robb, rubbing on Gendry’s hair because of his stress out of the subject at hand. 

Waiting by the bus stop, Brienne can hardly participate in the children’s conversation. Not that they need her input, but she can’t even bring herself to chastise them on any occasion where insults and teasing arise. They’ll have to forgive her for today, she can barely focus on any of the conversations. In fact, her heart skips a beat every other minute, whenever she does a headcount and comes up short. She’s been taking care of all the Lannister children for the past months, she suffers a mild heart attack whenever she counts less than seven kids in her immediate surroundings. 

There’s nothing to worry, of course. It takes her a few seconds every time, but she ends up remembering Jaime came with them today. He’s never too far away, with the rest of his offspring. Right now, he’s across the street with Sansa and Jon, telling them something about the bridge by the other side of the square. Even if what he’s telling them is pure bullshit, they wouldn’t really mind--he’s got them eating out of his hand, that’s how excited everyone is to have their Father around. They even seem willing to put up with all of his dad jokes, if that’s the prize they need to pay to spend one whole day with their Father. 

Someone pulls on Brienne’s arm and she looks down at Rickon. Jon, Robb, and Gendry keep discussing Gendry’s team possibilities of classifying, much less winning, and Robb insists that he simply feels as if he cannot return to his old school ever again while Gendry studies there.  
“Fräulein, couldn’t we go to Jorah’s bakery?” Rickon asks with that puppy little face that would melt anyone’s heart, including Brienne’s. 

“You cannot possibly be hungry, can you?” she says, looking over at Jaime in case he heard the little boy--she still hasn’t told him where those cookies come from, and she wouldn’t have him cheating. 

“No,” he confesses. “But I might be later.” 

“I’m afraid we don’t have enough time today, honey,” Brienne replies politely. “The bus will be here in just ten minutes. But we’ve brought plenty of snacks, don’t you worry. Now, why don’t you show me the paintings you did yesterday with your uncle Tyrion?” 

It is true that a piece of art reflects the artist’s hearts and desires, Brienne reflects. She’s seen all of Rickon’s drawings, from those he painted before she came around, to the dozens he did after she was hired, and everything in between, including the period she fled to Vienna. It’s easy to see the differences: the colors, the details, even if it’s just him and his siblings, depending on the chronological moment, they look either sad or joyful. These paintings definitely belong to the latter category--leading Brienne briefly to ponder what he would be up to painting today, after all the emotions, and the excursion with their Father. 

The man in question returns after a couple of minutes with Jon and Sansa, and the predictable fight for seats on the shade ensues. Jaime barely looks over at Brienne as he goes over to the bench, resting his hands on Robb’s shoulders and letting the boy, in turn, lean against him.

“Did I tell you I was reading a book on anti-gravity? It’s nearly damn impossible to put down, I tell you,” he says. 

The children’s reaction can be summarized by Robb sitting straight so he’s not leaning on his Father anymore, which works as effectively as if he used the silent treatment on Jaime. As per Brienne, she tries to focus on Rickon’s drawings as much as humanly possible in order to tune out Jaime, if he’s readying himself to another round of bad puns and jokes. She’s almost tempted to search him for his phone or the piece of paper he’s carrying with all those jokes written, but that’s a show they should avoid in public. And in front of the kids. 

“Hey, I want to see those too,” he says, as he realizes what Rickon’s showing Brienne. 

Out of respect, Brienne walks away to let Father and son have this moment alone. She bites her tongue, joining again the discussion on sports and school, looking over at Jaime now and then. She must confess, the man has behaved remarkably well thus far, and abided Brienne’s instructions. He hasn’t tried to kiss her or hold hands ever since they left the Mansion. He’s only had eyes for the kids, they have been his whole focus, and has barely addressed her a word. On the bus to the city, they sat on opposite sides of the aisle. 

It’s stupid, she knows. Feeling. . . What is it? Out of place? Left out? If she didn’t know any better, his behavior would sting her a little. It almost feels as if nothing had happened between the two last night, almost as if they hadn’t been star-naked in her bed merely a few hours ago, and were so reluctant to let each other go. . .

“Fräulein?” asks Gendry. “You’ve been too much in the sun. You’re all red,” he says, innocence at its fullest. 

At that, in spite of all her protests, Robb and Jon stand from the bench to give Brienne space to sit down, and Jaime moves too in order to check out Rickon’s drawings, as well. 

But Brienne can see the smug grin on Jaime’s face and knows he’s well aware of what she was thinking._ Oh, great, _ she scowls, blushing even worse. She doesn’t even need Jaime’s remarks and innuendos to put herself on the spot. Thank the Seven the kids are too enthralled by their Father’s presence that they don’t even realize the real reasons behind her blushing. 

Finally, the bus comes. Jaime, once more, tries to find a place as far away from Brienne as possible, sitting next to Arya. Albeit all the kids change seats throughout the trip, taking advantage of being the only passengers on the bus and later on the train, joking and laughing and playing, Jaime insists on keeping up appearances. Not that Brienne’s complaining. . . Or perhaps she is, actually. But she’s got her hands full because of Rickon getting carsick. 

The faces all the Lannister family members have on them when they descend the train could have worth filming, Brienne reckons. Not the first time up here in the mountains for either one of them, but it might be the first time in years, well before their Mother passed away, that they come up here with Jaime. 

“You’re it!!” Arya yells, kicking Gendry on the shoulder and running off. 

Gendry runs after her, which means that also Jon, Rickon, Robb, and Brandon scatter in every direction, shrieking in panic of being caught by Gendry. They don’t even give a second thought to their Father or Brienne, left alone by the train station with all their baggage to carry. 

The two adults exchange one resigned look, a bit shy all of a sudden, and share out the baskets, blankets, and footballs. Then, they set off after the kids, not really in a hurry. They are not worried at all about the children running off; the only dangers they might encounter out here is tripping and falling. Maybe staining their clothes too, but that’s not such a concern for Mr. Lannister any more. 

It’s an uphill stroll for the first twenty minutes, and at some point, Jaime struggles, so Brienne takes the handles of the basket the man’s carrying to help him out. All while trying to keep track with all seven children running everywhere constantly. 

They still make it to the top mountains, the children's yells and laughter mixed with the willowing wind, the blazing sun hurting their eyes. They neither waste time to take off their shoes, some even their shirts, and jump into the stream. It all soon becomes a splashing war very like the one they all engaged yesterday at the lake by the Manor, everyone trying to get their siblings as much dripping wet as possible while knowing no one will come out unscathed at all. 

Brienne drops her baggage for a second and just looks all around, using her hands as protectors against the sunlight. They’re the only ones up here for miles on end. They can enjoy the place to their heart’s content, and that is exactly their plan. 

“You must come back in winter,” Jaime says softly by her side. Must have seen the awe in her expression, she gathers. “All covered in snow, all alone in the midst of these magnificent mountains, not a soul, or footprint, or breathing, or beating heart to be seen or heard apart from yours. . . It’s magical, even.”

Brienne smiles even before she drops her hands. “You know, the kids mentioned the same the first time we came here.”

He blushes slightly, scratching his neck. “Well, what can I say? Like father, like sons and daughters?” 

His response makes Brienne chuckle, but they’ve got no more time for chit chat, since Sansa comes to meet them. She suggests that they make camp and, without any objections, all the kids are called up too to set down. It only takes a few minutes, and then it’s back to their games, banter, and laughter. 

“How long has it been?” Brienne asks softly, as they sit side by side on the blanket, leaving a more than respectable distance between the two of them. Jaime’s looking all around with the same awe that can be found in her eyes--he’s kept away from these mountains for more time than she could bear, if she lived here. 

“Too long,” confesses Jaime in a deep sigh. “Before Elsa.” 

Brienne nods in understanding. Jaime’s first wife’s disappearance took a heavy toll on every member of this family, included Jaime, and changed a lot of things around the house. Things that should never have been forgotten, but how to blame a man who’d lost the love of his life and was left alone to maintain an Empire and seven children all by himself? He made mistakes, that’s all. Tons of them, one after the other, for years on end, until he and the kids reached a point of almost no return. 

But it never got so bad that a little bit of music, laughter, compassion, and love couldn’t fix. 

“Hey, chin up,” she orders him, squeezing his arm tenderly. “No need to look so blue or brokenhearted. You’re here now. Look.” 

Following Brienne’s gaze, Jaime looks around. Not at the mountains and the amazing scenery surrounding them, but at their children. Playing and laughing around, carefree, completely at ease, enjoying the day out and spending time with their siblings--and their Father. Brienne sees the smile and humor build up in Jaime’s eyes until his whole face lights up. Telling her, once more, that she was right. 

It scares Brienne a little bit, being completely honest. She knows what Jaime’s seeing, what the children feel. They’re all back up here, playing and having fun, as. . . _As a family,_ she somehow pulls the thought out. She might fit into Jaime’s and the children’s picture of a newfound family, and she won’t deny that she’s very pleased they might think so, but the truth is, this isn’t her whole family. She can’t belong here forgetting all about Podrick and Selwyn at her convenience, that’s not right--that’s not who she is. 

Deep down, she knows she should have found, or made, the time to come clean to Jaime this morning. 

“You are an incredible woman, Miss Tarth,” Jaime says, pulling her out of her reveries, so far away from her thoughts and concerns that they seem to be living in different worlds. “Do not let anyone tell you otherwise, ever. There’s beauty and literal magic in the way you’ve turned this house and family upside down. 

“There’s beauty in the way you love those seven children who put you through hell,” he keeps going, definitely making her blush get worse and worse by the second. “There’s magic in the way you stood up to me on your first week here. In the way you love me--although that might be considered masochism for some readers.” 

“Oh, I’m one of those, undoubtedly,” agrees Brienne with a chuckle. 

Jaime bursts out laughing too before he continues. “There’s a wonder in the way you brought music back into the house and, with it, you brought happiness and joy too.” 

Upon all of that, Brienne tries to find something--anything--to keep herself distracted, and the first thing that comes to her mind, per usual, are song lyrics. She goes over the first lines of ‘The Hills Are Alive’ and soon enough she’s humming the song under her breath. Jaime sits closer to her, his fingers almost touching Brienne’s hand resting on the blanket, and to her biggest surprise, after a beat, he joins in her humming, too. 

Well, that’s the first song they ever sang together, their eyes seem to say when they briefly look at each other, before bursting out laughing and blushing. They need a second to resume the song where they’d left it, acknowledging that it is kind of beautiful for them to be singing it again now. Even if it’s in front of all the children and they could take the wrong conclusions. 

_What wrong conclusions would those be? _ that damned voice asks her. _Do any of those children consider her just a mere and common governess? Does she? _

“It’s not magic, though,” she replies after they’ve finished the song. 

“Sorry?” 

“Me and the kids,” she explains, avoiding Jaime’s eye this time. “Their change. Your change. All of this. It’s not magic.” 

“Okay,” says Jaime, scooting just a bit closer. Brienne can tell he’s only staring at her, now, holding onto every word, but she simply cannot look at him. Nor the children. She’s just staring at her lap, forcing her brain to form coherent sentences, forcing her lips to utter those words without fumbling. 

“I should have told you earlier. There’s Pod--” 

“Fräulein!” Sansa calls out. 

The girl appears out of nowhere, startling both Brienne and Jaime. The latter moves away as Sansa kneels by Brienne and grabs her hands to pull her up. Brienne doesn’t mind, she could use with a distraction and some space with Jaime, but the man doesn’t seem willing to let her go just so soon, as he grabs Sansa’s wrist. 

“Sansa, hold on,” he begs, stern voice. “We were kind of having a chat here.” 

Brienne freezes and ponders for all of one second, Jaime looking at her intently, letting her know that if the subject at hand is important for her, this is her opening and she should take it. In the end, she smiles and shakes her head. It’s not a matter of life and death. 

“It’s okay,” Brienne promises the girl. “It can wait.” 

“Great!” approves Sansa, delighted, as she drags Brienne for a walk, away from their camp--and away from her father, Brienne reckons with a little smile. After a while, when they’re far away from her Father for Sansa’s taste, they settle for a simple stroll. 

“Are you going to show us any more songs today?” she asks. 

“Possibly,” Brienne grants. “Why?” 

“Well, we were speaking yesterday with uncle Tyrion. . .” 

“Oh, my. We _should_ be scared, shouldn’t we?” fears Brienne. 

“No!” Sansa promises. “We were just talking about the Festival and what songs we should include.”

“Before all that, don’t you think you’d need permission from a certain someone?” asks Brienne, looking over her shoulder to Jaime. The man is currently following Rickon around, unaware of the conversation between Sansa and Brienne. 

“Come on, we all know what his answer will be!” 

“And what makes you think I can just go over his head?” demands Brienne. _Gods, things are bad,_ she fears. If all the kids believe she did talk to Mr. Lannister about Baroness Cersei and come to her whenever they disagree with something their Father did, even before she becomes anything more than a governess for them, they’re in trouble. Apparently, she’s yet to teach them all about facing their own problems and speaking up when they feel uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Sansa, but my hands are tied right now.” 

“So, you’ll do nothing?” asks Sansa, forlorn.

“I can teach you any songs you’d like,” offers Brienne softly. “And I can train you for the Festival, as soon as you talk to your Father and get his permission.”

“I see. . .” she sighs. She tries to untangle her arm from Brienne’s, but she doesn’t release her grip, just yet. 

“No, hold on for a second,” begs Brienne. “We haven’t had a proper chance to catch up since I got back. Tell me, any news on Ramsay?” 

Since returning and hearing the news about Jaime’s engagement, Brienne just wasn’t in the mood for any late-night conversations with the teenage girl concerning her heart problems--she had enough with her own life. And, considering, too, the last news she got about the kid, she’s still worried. 

“Nothing worth mentioning.” 

“You didn’t talk to your Father about him?” 

“Whatever for?” demands Sansa, too evasive. 

“And you haven’t seen him?”

“I don’t understand why you’ve chosen now of all times to bring this subject again!” complains Sansa with a shriek, clearly too emotional for this. 

“Because I care about you and want the best for you,” Brienne explains softly, without releasing the girl in spite of her best struggles. “And because I asked you to do something for me, and I expect you to do it.” 

“Let me go!!” Sansa orders, shaking off Brienne’s hand. Leaving her behind, Sansa storms off and, some feet ahead, she drops on the ground, legs under her body, back ostensibly facing the governess and her Father. 

Brienne lets her be, fearing that Sansa has done the exact opposite to what she asked her to do, and returns to the blankets. Jaime was busying himself with preparing some drinks and snacks, although it would be more appropriate to say he was struggling with opening the bags of chips and other very unhealthy snacks they’ve brought with them. 

“Here,” says Brienne, fighting a chuckle, taking the bag from him. He surrenders it easily, looking over Brienne’s shoulder, at Sansa’s estimate position. He didn’t miss how badly that conversation ended. 

“What was that all about?”

“Something I’m not sure you’re quite ready to face just yet,” Brienne says, looking at Sansa down there, brooding all alone and picking up the grass at her feet. She knows the girl will pout and bark for a little while, but it’ll just be temporary, and will join them all soon enough. “Heartbreak.” 

Startled, Jaime takes a second glance, squinting his eyes at his eldest daughter. _Did he think too that she was still too young for that sort of trouble?_ When will he start seeing his children for the teenagers, almost adults they really are? Will he ever? How can a parent make up for so much lost time in their children's lives?

“Who?” 

Brienne drops her head as she grabs a few more nuts from the bag. “I think you should ask her, Mr. Lannister.” 

He drops the bag of snacks and kneels in front of Brienne. “It sounds as if I should worry.” 

“I don’t really know,” confesses Brienne. 

“Are you worried? If you are, I am,” he says softly, resting a hand against hers. 

“Not sure. Maybe,” she grants, truly at a loss for words in this one situation. What is she supposed to do? Given everything she’s heard of Ramsay and the Boltons, perhaps they should be scared. Then again, she doesn’t want to break Sansa’s trust, and maybe this could help Jaime and his daughter bond as well. . . 

“It’s okay,” he says softly upon her doubts. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s going to be fine.” 

He squeezes her hand and leans for a kiss, but Brienne pulls back. It doesn’t hurt Jaime: he chuckles and drops back on the blankets, letting the sun shimmer and glimmer on that golden hair of his in unfair ways. 

“Wha were you saying earlier?” he asks softly, unaware, with any luck, of Brienne staring at him. “About Pod? What’s that? Who’s that?” 

“I. . .” 

Brienne ponders for a second and finds out that she cannot tell him about Podrick right now. She’s not in the mood for that explanation. Lest not forget they’re out here with all of his children--it would kind of ruin the mood. And after that glorious conversation with Sansa, she’s just more and more convinced that maybe she is not fit to be a part of this family, not the way Jaime and she were discussing earlier. No, they need to take this slower. 

“Nothing. I can tell you later.” 

Jaime looks at her through his squinted eyes, assessing if he should insist, but then he nods and smiles warmly at her, accepting her refusal. 

“There’s time,” he accepts. He then stands graciously and goes meet his children by the river, headed specifically towards Sansa, maybe in an attempt to cheer her up. If he’s planning what Brienne thinks he’s planning, the idea will definitely backfire. Still, she’s unable not to listen in, just to confirm her worse fears. 

“Listen, did you hear the news? About the crook who stole a calendar?” asks Jaime. 

At that, Sansa shakes her head, picking up on some more grass. Her father kneels on the ground and takes his arm around her shoulders. “I heard he got twelve months.” 

The ultimate joke is met with incredulous scoffs, some pity laughter--included Brienne herself--and in Sansa’s case, she just stands and goes meet her siblings, which comes as no surprise to Brienne. But Jaime does stand there for some more seconds, a bit dumbstruck, watching his daughter leave him all alone. 

Instead of feeling blue about it all, he jumps to his feet and follows Sansa, meeting the children down the river. They were just discussing if they should quit the games when Jaime appears and splashes everyone within reach, meaning they’ll take at least fifteen more minutes to leave the river and move on with any other activities. Brienne prepares towels for them to get dried for whenever they’re ready. 

Even Sansa joins the family down at the blanket then, albeit she does sit as far as humanly possible from Brienne. She just takes her guitar and tunes it, as the kids slowly settle. 

“So, what do you want to hear today?” she asks, looking around for suggestions. 

They choose _‘How to solve a problem like’,_ just to get a laugh out of everyone, and to help Jaime getting used to their customs. Of course, they also seize the chance to improvise a few more lines having Mr. Lannister as the main subject--concerning his job, uncle Tyrion, and the eventful day out they’re enjoying here today. They’re tactful enough not to mention Baroness Cersei, and they get a good laugh out of the song. 

Next, Brienne plays the first few notes of a song she had prepared beforehand, just for the occasion. She waits to see if the children catch up on the lyrics, and some do, but she helps them remembering nonetheless. She was certain Jaime would have no trouble remembering the lyrics. 

  
_Well, open up your mind and see like me._  
_Open up your plans and, damn, you're free._  
_Look into your heart and you'll find love, love, love, love._  


As they sing, Brienne tries to include all the children, helping them sing the right lyrics and notes, but Brienne’s eyes fall time and time again on Jaime. Of course, he remembers that first night where he caught her dancing and singing this one song in her pajamas, in a private party of hers. They also remember everything he said to her. 

Throughout the song, she sees Jaime singing, laughing, and shaking his head in a stupor. Things have, no doubt, changed a lot since then. Just so Jaime doesn’t dwell on remorse or guilt, Brienne winks at him to reassure the man, who smiles broadly and smiles back. She then looks down on the guitar, focusing on the chords, as not to mess up the song. 

“You did an amazing job teaching them, Fräulein, if I may say so myself,” Jaime says when the song is finished. 

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister,” she grants, hoping she’s not blushing too much. “Would you like to learn a bit yourself as well?”

He’s startled, in a way that Rickon, who was sitting on his lap, moves away out of surprise and fright. Jaime looks down on the guitar Brienne’s holding, half raising his arm without the usual prosthetic. 

Before the man needs to be embarrassed, Brienne winks at him and turns towards Jon, but he, in turn, looks at Sansa. She reaches for the bag she’d been carrying and takes a small, black case. It exchanges hands from Sansa to Arya, then Gendry, then Jon and Rickon, until it finally reaches Jaime. The golden writing on top is self-explanatory: Blues-de-Ville Harmonica. 

“What is this?” he asks. He addresses his children, but in the end, his eyes fall on Brienne, and she blushes a bit. 

“It’s a present!” yells Brandon. 

“You may not be able to play the guitar or the piano, but you can learn the harmonica!!” says Gendry. 

“Uncle Tyrion helped us choosing it,” adds Rickon. 

“And paying it,” Robb promises, easing some of Jaime’s worries. 

“It was Fräulein Brienne’s idea, actually,” explains Jon. 

“Was it, now?” Jaime asks. Of course, he’d figured that out already, and he looks up and nods at Brienne in appreciation. It makes her blush even worse, and just to avoid his eye, she plays a few notes on the guitar. 

Jaime also takes pity on her and gets the harmonica out of the case. He balances the harmonica on his fingers, the silver instrument shining against the sun. 

“Well, do you like it?” asks Rickon. 

“Of course, I do,” promises Jaime, poking at Rickon’s side with the harmonica. The boy giggles, struggling to get away from his Father, and after a few seconds, Jaime brings the harmonica to his lips and blows the very first few notes. 

“Hey, it sounds good,” approves Sansa. 

“Thank you,” nods Jaime. “It is an amazing gift.”

The kids beam in delight, as Jaime plays some random notes and rhythms, not really knowing what he’s doing, but enjoying it nonetheless. 

“Will you teach me too, Miss Tarth?” he asks. 

“We all will,” she replies. “Who wants to start?”

“Me, let me!!” begs Brandon, jumping to his feet and raising his hand into the air as far as he can. “You see, when you read, you begin with ‘A, B, C’ right? Then when you sing, you begin with. . .”

In the end, all the children pipe in to teach their Father. Albeit Jaime did know the musical scale, he allows the children to teach him the whole ‘Do-Re-Mi’ song. It gives him time to get acquainted with the instrument, without forgetting it’ll be a trial and error learning. Brienne has never played the harmonica and needs to accompany him on the guitar just to make sure he’s hitting the right notes--not so easy to do with such a small instrument and his lips and breath instead of both hands and all fingers. But they make progress either way, and just before they wrap up today’s lecture, Jaime can almost play ‘Do-Re-Mi’ with them singing, plus Brienne on the guitar, Rickon playing the recorder. 

  
_“Doe,” a deer, a female deer,_  
_“Ray,” a drop of golden sun _  
_“Me,” a name I call myself _  
_“Far,” a long, long way to run _  
_“Sew,” a needle pulling thread _  
_“La,” a note to follow sew _  
_“Tea,” a drink with jam and bread, _  
_That will bring us back to doe! _  


“That was amazing,” Robb says--the kids can’t quite believe yet that they’ve just sung with their Father, there’s shock and awe and gratitude in their eyes. Maybe this didn't happen often even when their Mother was still alive. 

“Wasn’t it?” Jaime asks Brienne with a wicked grin. 

“I must admit, it wasn’t half bad,” she grants, resting the guitar on the blanket. Jon moves a bit, but then Robb hands over the guitar case to Brienne. 

“We could almost form a band, don’t you think?” chuckles Gendry. 

“Can you just imagine how thrilling and funny would be to participate at the Festival?” asks Sansa. “Us singing, playing the recorder, the guitar, the harmonica. . . Quite an act, don’t you think, Father?”

Brienne freezes at that, assessing Jaime’s reaction. Wouldn’t want the man to think she’s still giving the kids hope in that regard, when she’s doing nothing of that sort. . . 

He seems to think nothing along those lines, he just drops his head to one side, tired. Ever since his return from Vienna, he hasn’t said no to anything the kids suggested, except for this one thing, and it’s tiring him out a lot. 

“Come on, not again,” he scowls. 

“There’s still time to sign in!” Brandon chips in.

“I gave you my answer already,” Jaime says. “You will not sing in public.” 

“But we already have!” complains Arya. 

“In Salzburg, at the bus--” lists Jon. 

“Not to mention the ball,” finishes Robb. 

“That was different,” Jaime interjects, stern. That ball still is a sore subject for him, and Brienne understands that now. It’s hard for her to talk about it, too. She was so heartbroken that night, she never wants to go back there. “And a once-in-a-lifetime event. That is the end of it. 

“Also, can’t you understand my position? I cannot subject my children to an orchestra,” he adds, and eyebrows frown all around at the strange line of the subject he’s chosen now. “There’s just too much sax and violins.” 

The argument, that Brienne feared it was headed towards a terrible and blue ending, concludes in an even more awful note that anyone had predicted. Eyes roll, sighs rise, and some children stand from the blanket, needing to physically get away from their Father and his jokes for a little while if they’re to stand his jokes all day long. 

Brienne’s eyes fall onto the football, and she ponders it’s as good a distraction as any at the moment. She grabs it and throws it over to Jon, one of the kids who’d remained back on the blanket. The boy doesn’t react for a full two seconds, leading Brienne to fear they will not drop the subject, but then he jumps into his feet, and all his siblings follow. 

Brienne and Jaime stay behind, the former getting beverages ready, the latter making sure the harmonica is properly put away in the case. 

“You’re pushing it,” Brienne warns under her breath. 

“What?” 

“Your jokes. Everyone’s got a limit,” she says. 

“I cannot honestly picture you having any limits,” he chuckles. 

“Don’t try me, Mr. Lannister,” warns Brienne, tilting her head. 

Barely worried, Jaime raises an eyebrow at her, as if her fair warning had been nothing but a dare to his ears. Not at all concerned, he just chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You’re not going to convince me about the Festival?” he asks after a minute. 

“I’m not here to convince you into doing anything,” Brienne replies, a bit shocked that that should be Jaime’s assumption. 

“Aren’t you?” he dares, giving her that smug grin ever so present nowadays. 

“Father! Fräulein!” Robb yells. “Won’t you join us?”

The two in question don’t even have to think about it; they just smile at the same time, a good enough answer. Then they hold hands to help each other stand and meet the kids. Robb and Jon, designated captains, start selecting the players. In the end, the teams are: Jon, Jaime, Gendry, and Sansa, and Rickon fight against Robb, Brienne, Arya, and Rickon. 

It’s more than an equal fight and it demands everyone’s full attention and prowess. Albeit they don’t officially keep score, Jon’s team wins by an advantage of two goals.

“Come on, kids,” begs Jaime after he stops a ball thrown by Arya that could easily have been a score, “let’s end this here. I’m beat.” 

Some complaints raise, but most of the players are equally exhausted and glad to put an end to the game. Brandon, Rickon, and Arya drop right there where they stood, on their knees or backs, to catch their breath; Sansa and Jon return to the stream to refreshen, and the remaining can only find the strength to keep moving thanks to the promise of cold water. Jaime tucks the football under his arm and Brienne is happy to find the shade of some trees. 

They lie under the sun for a little while, trying to rest a bit, with barely any remaining strength to strike up any kind of conversation. The first words next spoken are, in fact, demands from the kids for food, so Jaime and Brienne summon everyone back to the blankets for their picnic. 

As one of their basic needs is slowly fulfilled, the kids slowly find the strength to talk and joke again, and the usual rattle raises again. Brienne and Jaime couldn’t be happier to be in the middle of it all, and from opposite sides of their circle, they’re continuously smiling at each other. 

Somehow, the conversation has diverted towards superpowers, maybe because of the comics Gendry is so fond of. Everyone has a favorite pick: Arya mentions invisibility, Rickon prefers flying, Robb would rather be a mindreader, Gendry’s pick is superstrength. They’re all discussing the advantages and disadvantages of each superpower: on Arya’s case, she says she could sneak up everywhere in the world and cause havoc, but her siblings remind her that invisibility does not mean stealthiness. Albeit Rickon wouldn’t waste much fuel on airplanes and could travel anywhere around the globe, he seems to miss out on all the bugs he’d swallow on average. On the other hand, teleporting would be nice, but it’d require Rickon to know exactly the point he’d be landing into, just in case he wouldn’t drop dead in a frozen lake in December, or in a building being demolished. Superstrength would be ‘cool’, as they put it, but only as long as the subject in question could control his strength on everyday tasks--wouldn’t be fun breaking one’s car when he steps on the gas, or the oven when you put in a pizza, or your partner when you’re holding hands. As per Robb, they’re having a discussion on how mindreading powers could prove more useful, because being able to hear everyone’s thoughts would become tiresome at some point if he couldn’t choose the subject and the time he wanted to hear those thoughts. . . 

Of course, the conversation couldn’t possibly end without Jaime’s personal input. The moment Brienne saw the man opening his mouth she feared the worst, and yet she was not prepared for his terrible, horrible, bad pun. 

“Hey, do you know which superhero uses public transportation? Bus Lightyear!” he provides. 

“Father!” seven voices complain at the same time. 

“You really need to stop with those jokes!” adds Sansa. 

“They’re not nearly as funny as you think they are,” agrees Robb. 

“Actually, they’re not funny at all,” Arya scowls with a roll of eyes. The complaints, however, just rub off of Jaime’s back, for he doesn’t look gloomy at all by his children’s reactions. 

“I’ll get there. Someday,” he says. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Gendry demands to know. 

“Guess we’ll find out when the time comes,” Jaime winks at the boy. 

Brienne’s just helping Brandon opening a new bottle of water when there’s a melody coming out of their baskets. Apparently they do get cell reception out here, she reckons, as she stretches to get her cell phone, but she figures Jaime didn’t even bring his cell phone out here--it would have been ringing non-stop since they left the mansion. 

“Ten cents!” all the kids yell. Upon seeing the ID caller, Brienne doesn’t even justify herself and jumps to her feet, walking away. 

“Come on, it’s not as if we’re having a formal meal in the dining room, is it?” Jaime defends her--for she’s got no change with her right now. “I think we can spare Miss Tarth’s penitence, just today.” 

“Pod, hello,” Brienne greets. “How are you?” 

“Mommy!” he shrieks, and she freezes at that word--something’s wrong. Something is really, really wrong, she can tell.

“Pod? Are you hurt? What happened?” she shrieks, goosebumps all over her arms and back. The cell reception absolutely sucks, for the Seven’s sake, and Brienne can barely understand what Pod says next, which leads to her almost losing her patience and temper. 

“Mommy,” he repeats over and over. 

“Hold on, honey,” she yells, struggling to hear a word from Podrick. “You need to talk slower. Are you alright?” 

“No! Mommy, you need to--”

“Pod, honey, is grandpa around? Can you put grandpa on the phone?” She can feel the kids’ and Jaime’s eyes locked on her neck, even though Jaime had been trying, up to this moment, to distract the children with another one of his jokes--he just forgot the punch line, concerned as he is for her. Must be damning her lack of courage and her leaving the conversation hanging, earlier. 

“No! Hospital!” his voice comes and goes, but that single word manages to freeze all of Brienne’s blood, and she stops breathing. “He’s at the hospital! Mommy, come home, please!” 

_Oh, no._ No. _No. No! _

When she turns around, all the conversations and jokes have long died out, and everyone’s staring back at her with the same panic that’s threatening to come over her. Jaime’s the first one on his feet and comes to meet her, steadying her by the shoulders. He looks straight into her eyes, doing his best to remain calm for the sake of everyone. 

“Brinny?” 

His hand a bit too tight on her shoulder, he awaits for an explanation--anything. He looks just about ready to pry that cell phone off her hands to get those explanations to whomever’s still talking on the other side of the line. For she’s unable to answer him in any way. 

“Should we go home?” he asks instead. 

To his biggest dismay, Brienne seems unable to process his question--if she could hear him at all, that is. He needs to take charge, even without knowing what the hell is going on. He must muddle through this quicksand as best as he can. 

“We should go home,” he decides, holding her hand to lead her back to the blankets. He also takes the cell phone to talk to that famous Podrick, but soon damns the sloppy reception--the call has ended. He’s left with no explanations whatsoever, one freaked out Brienne that only manages to freak him out, and seven children to look after on their way back to the Manor. 

“Father?” Gendry asks in lieu of all his brothers and sisters, as much concerned as everyone else. 

“What’s going on?” demands Sansa, taking a good look at Brienne and grabbing her free hand, just in case. 

“Start packing, kids,” Jaime orders, deliberately omitting that second question. “We’re going back home.” 

Trying to keep a steady and comforting voice for Brienne and the children, he blesses the Forgotten Gods for the children not putting up a fight today. After a beat of frozen and silent shock, they all organize the tasks at hand to collect their stuff. Jaime supervises the work with approving eyes, but it’s difficult to convey any gratitude, support or admiration right now: Brienne seems unable to react or say anything still. Whatever she was told by that Podrick man, it wasn’t good news. 

“Father,” whimpers Sansa, by Brienne’s other side. She’s long forgotten that quarrel she had earlier with Brienne over her heartbreak, that’s how worried she is for Brienne. Yeah, Jaime feels the same. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he lies as best as he can, winking at Sansa. He would have tried stroking her cheek or caressing her hair, but he would have been forced to do so with his stump, for he doesn’t want to release his steady grip on Brienne, and he knows how Sansa reacts still to his injury. He cannot fault any of the kids for that. 

“I’m going to go and help,” says Sansa, nodding over to her siblings. 

Jaime nods in approval, forgetting about his accident and his hand. The most important thing right now, he reckons, is not letting the children lose their composure or their control--Brienne’s way past that point, he’s afraid. But, if they do start climbing up the walls, that’s going to be the end of Jaime’s self-control, rationality, and lingering hopes of helping Brienne at all. He’s afraid he’s going to have to rely on the older kids to manage their siblings, today. 

Whatever Brienne needs, she’ll have it. He's been through Hell many times over, the Gods know that, and maybe if he doesn't know what's going on and how he can help Brinny, he does know one thing: he will _not_ be leaving her alone for one minute. At the very least, he knows that she does need the company, or a shoulder to cry on. And he can provide those. He can provide her with anything she asks him for. And he will give her his whole Empire if necessary. If only that was enough for her to overcome her fright, and for her to come out the other way unscathed. . . 

Unable to stop his mind running wild, the worse scenarios run through Jaime's mind as they walk back to the train station. He couldn't force Brienne to come clean about what's going on, and his mind just comes out with the worst possibilities imaginable. He knows there are some things people do not recover from, and begs all the Forgotten Gods that this isn't that case. Or, if it _is_ worst-case scenario, he prays that at the very least, he can be there for Brienne, just as much as she's been there for him all this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it !! I apologize for the cliffhanger, especially for fans of the original screenplay--I did warn I was going to deviate from the original story from now on. . . I'm working on the next chapter right now, I promise !!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, accompanied by Jaime, returns to Vienna.

Twice has Brienne had the urgency to leave the Lannister family and return home to Vienna, but the two occasions couldn't have been more different. 

Instead of sneaking into the night without any of the Lannister family members knowing about it, today the children haven’t left her alone for one minute, hoping their presence will comfort her somehow. 

The minute she hung up the phone call, per Jaime’s orders, the children have collected all the bags without a word. Jon and Robb have taken her arms in case strength failed her on their way back to the train station. There, no other than Arya--_Arya,_ of all people!--found a seat by her side and didn’t release Brienne’s hand throughout the whole trip. Jaime, seated right in front of them, looked as if he wanted to be the one to hold Brienne’s hand, but he’s been busy looking after all the kids. 

Arya and Rickon have always held onto Brienne’s hand on their way back to the house. Upon their arrival, Christopher, warned in advance by one phone call from Jaime, was already waiting to drive Brienne to Vienna. Sansa dragged her to her chambers and is now helping her pack--just a few shirts and dresses in case she needs to stay in Vienna--and Brandon’s lying in bed with Brienne, barely saying a word. 

Brienne feels sorry. She scared them all so much after the phone call, they must have thought the worse of possibilities. Learning that her father was gravely ill didn’t ease any of their worries, and Brienne, as well as Jaime, has failed to find any words that might comfort them. 

“Fräulein,” Sansa calls softly. “Should I help you change?” 

“No need,” says Brienne, painstakingly leaving the bed. “Thank you.” 

“We’ll be right outside,” Sansa says, taking Brandon’s hand to convince him to leave the chambers. “Just call if we can help you with something else.”

The reverse of roles would be funny, if there was anything remotely funny in the situation, and Brienne can’t even bring herself to answer. Sansa and Brandon leave the room, and through the crack of the door, she can see Gendry knelt against the veranda, Jon standing by his side. What is she doing to those kids, she prays? She was supposed to take care of them--that’s what Mr. Lannister hired her for. And now. . . What in the world is putting them through? Haven’t they had enough already? 

Despite her promise to Sansa that she’ll manage on her own, Brienne has a very hard time finding the strength to do anything at all. She opens the wardrobe doors and takes the first dress she sees to change into. Jaime did offer to have Christopher picking her up in Salzburg and driving her off to Vienna immediately, but at that moment Brienne got hold of Sammy. The nurse informed that Selwyn had had a stroke and was just rushed to surgery, which would last for hours still. Since Podrick was well taken care of by Sammy, Margaery, and Olenna, a thirty-minute delay to pack her things wouldn’t exactly hurt. She agreed only under the condition that Sammy would call her if there were any news from the doctors, good or bad. 

Two sets of footsteps approaching break the silence and Brienne holds her breath, uncertain of what’s going to happen. 

“Father,” Arya calls outside. 

Brienne can picture Jaime and his concerned face, the eyes she’s been looking time and time again on their way back to the Mansion. Seems like those blue eyes were the only thing keeping her sane throughout the trip. He sighs deeply, maybe even leans against the veranda along with his kids. 

“You need to give her some room, kids,” the man says, as tired as Brienne feels. How is he taking all of this? 

“We want to be here in case she needs anything,” says Arya--and Jaime must know that fighting her would lead to nothing good. 

Jaime takes a long time answering, so long that Brienne actually stops breathing, the dress hanging from her arm, waiting. Just this morning, she mentioned Selwyn for the first time within this household. Now, she’s leaving them all again and returning to Vienna because of her father. What’s his take in all of this? Is she being fair at all with him? 

“Your uncle Tyrion and I have decided that I will go to Vienna with Miss Tarth,” says Jaime, and Brienne freezes. _What in the world is he planning? Going to Vienna with her?_ That's a foul idea if she's ever heard one. “She shouldn’t be alone for the drive. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course, Father,” says Robb, a bit surprised that Jaime should have asked their opinion, or permission, at all. 

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” nods Sansa. 

“Can we come with you?” asks Gendry. 

Jaime sighs deeply--Brienne can picture him running his one hand through his hair. “I _just_ said you should give her some time and space, kiddo. No, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with your uncle Tyrion for today.” 

“No need to look as if you’re going to attend a funeral,” Tyrion chuckles, but his joke doesn’t even manage a pity laughter from the kids. 

“You’ll be fine,” Jaime promises in the same vague and false way Brienne said those same words to Sansa a few minutes earlier. “I won’t be gone long, this time around. Depends on the traffic, I assume I can be back late in the evening, I gather--” 

“Wait,” begs Sansa. 

“What’s your plan? To simply drop her off in Vienna and come back here?” interjects Arya. “As if you were just delivering a package?” 

“No, not exactly--” 

“She’s going to need a friend there. Someone who’ll support her,” says Jon. 

“You know, I’m sure she’s got friends in Vienna,” scowls Jaime. 

“I really think you should stay with her,” Sansa insists. 

No one talks for the longest time and Brienne decides to put a stop to all the worries and plannings, by coming out of her room. Gendry and Arya stand from the ground upon her appearance, Jon takes her bag to carry it to the entrance, and Brienne forces a smile as she looks at Jaime for the first time since the phone call. 

“No need to chaperone me, Mr. Lannister. I’m perfectly capable of going to Vienna myself.” 

“And nobody said you weren’t able to,” Tyrion tries to fix the whole unfixable conversation. 

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable if I let you go alone, Miss Tarth,” Jaime replies formally. What in the world is he suggesting? If he joins her, all his kids will just draw conclusions and ask questions they’re nowhere ready to answer. Not to mention all the questions Brienne’s own family will raise from dragging him all the way to Vienna. . . 

“Fräulein, you really should let Father join you,” says Sansa. 

“You’ll appreciate the company in moments of strife,” adds Robb, softly. 

Before Brienne, or any of the children for that matter, can put in another word, someone clears his throat at the ground floor. Christopher announces that the car is ready whenever she is, while Jon climbs up the stairs to find his family. 

“I need to leave,” says Brienne, struggling to make a decision, struggling to find words. “Mr. Lannister, feel free to do whatever you please.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. The children raise no complaints and Brienne does not know what to say, so silence is just a confirmation to Jaime’s statement. Everyone steps aside to let her go in first, and Jaime offers her the right arm to descend the stairs. 

Another difference to the last time Brienne fled the house: she gets the chance to have a proper goodbye. Uncle Tyrion awaits by the entrance door to bid her farewell with an encouraging message, and then she gets a hug and a kiss from all the kids in turn. 

“I apologize for earlier,” Sansa whispers. “It was uncalled for.” 

“Hope your father gets better really soon,” it’s Robb’s statement. 

“I’ll miss you,” says Rickon, on the edge of tears. “Will you call us this time?” 

_Oh, dear,_ scowls Brienne. He thinks I’m disappearing again. She cannot answer any of the kids’ pleas, a knot in her throat threatening to burst and bring her to her knees within a moment’s notice. She just moves on to hug Brandon goodbye. 

Jaime holds the door open for her and as soon as he sits by her side, orders Christopher to get going. Arya, Gendry, Rickon, and Brandon run after the car until it leaves the mansion and Christopher, per Jaime’s orders, hits the gas, and they leave the kids way behind. 

Seconds after the driving starts, Jaime, who’d sat at a respectable distance for the sake of appearances in front of his kids, slides down the seats to rest his arm around Brienne’s shoulders. Now she leans against him, relishing some warm comfort, and he welcomes her, unjudgmental, as Brienne starts crying for the first time since she got the phone call. Away from the kids, now that she won’t scare them, she allows herself a good cry. 

Also, there’s this impending question she got upon Rickon’s plea: isn’t this a goodbye forever? If her father’s condition is bad, and she can assume that it is, she couldn’t possibly return to Salzburg any time soon, as a governess or otherwise. She just doesn’t have the means. Maybe a clean break was for the best. . . 

Unable to focus on those thoughts now, she just holds onto Jaime, the one person keeping her sane right now. He also takes her phone from her hands in case she does get a phone call from Sam, and raises the separating window between them and Christopher. Wishing to give Brienne as much privacy and courtesy as possible in a three-hour drive home in his limousine. 

It’s a long and silent trip--Brienne’s tears and sobs soon come to an end, and then they spend most of the drive in a comfortable and comforting embrace. Only Christopher’s classic music accompanies them, for Jaime can barely come up with any appropriate subjects to fill in the silence. For once, he does realize that his jokes would be completely out of place and that Brienne would probably kick him out of the moving car if he dared to open his mouth to make a single bad pun joke. He respects her need for silence and comfort although, once more, the fact that _she’s_ the one being taken care of this time around is kind of ironic. Someone smarter would be able to make a funny remark and symbolism, somehow. 

They do stop about half an hour before reaching Vienna. Christopher argues they need to refill the tank and Jaime agrees that stopping at a service area might be a good idea for everyone, in an attempt to get Brienne to eat something. But neither Christopher does not refill the tank, and Jaime has a hard time convincing Brienne into eating anything. 

“Please,” Jaime begs her, laying the coffee and croissant closer to her side. “You won’t be helpful to beast or man if you starve to death.” 

“I’m just not hungry right now.”

“Come on, for me,” he begs, pushing the plate with his stump. “For your father?”

That last suggestion does the trick and Brienne, however grudgingly, takes the first bite of the croissant. Jaime leans back on his chair at seeing her eat, relief washing his whole face over, and Brienne realizes he, too, is scared out of his mind. They had neither predicted nor expected such a difficult test so soon after they’d gotten together, and it’ll just prove how invested they are in this relationship and how far they’re willing to go. 

As far as Brienne can see, the answer is that Jaime has, to a greater or lesser degree, fallen head over heels for her. He said he was willing to commit from the first minute, and he’s talked himself into joining her to Vienna for moral support in this moment of strife. She cannot deny those facts. In gratitude, Brienne slides her hand down the table, and Jaime saves the distance, squeezing her hand tightly. He still doesn’t let her leave until she’s finished the whole croissant, though. 

Which brings Brienne to the other only issue she could have in mind right about now. When they’re back in the car, slowly and inevitably getting closer to Vienna, to the hospital, to her father, and her family, she convinces herself she needs to tell him. 

“Jaime,” she says, her voice hoarse and low. She clears her throat as Jaime stops caressing her hair for a minute. “There’s. . . There’s something I need to tell you.” 

He doesn’t let her finish the sentence. He lays a finger on her lips to stop her from uttering a word. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Brienne shakes her head, astonished, but surrenders easily, not in the mood for a fight or even a conversation--bringing Podrick up would only entail too long a conversation. _He’s no idea,_ she sighs in regret at her own stupidity and cowardice. She won’t be able to hide Podrick from him for long and she’s not going to hide any part of her life because of Jaime coming to Vienna much sooner than planned. He seems to grasp there are things that she needs to tell him, maybe in a warning of what he’s truly going to meet at that hospital, and he’s just given her a free card not to prepare him for anything coming forward. 

_He’ll deal with it all the best way he can, _ that’s what he’s telling her. The same way he just took charge up there in the mountains, after her phone call, when she couldn’t utter a word, and he had to lead everyone back to the Manor safe and sound--seven children and a catatonic woman about to have an anxiety attack. He managed. And he’s going to manage in the future, too. He’s managed as well as he could ever since her wife passed away. 

About fifty minutes later, Christopher stops in front of the hospital in question. Leaving him to his own devices to find somewhere to park, they jump off the vehicle and run through the reception to find Olenna, who was supposed to meet them downstairs. As planned, she waited by the elevators. 

“Brienne, my sweetheart,” she calls out, welcoming Brienne into her arms. 

“News?” she asks, even though she spoke to Sam only twenty minutes ago over the phone--well, Jaime did, to be more accurate. 

“He’s still in surgery,” replies the old lady, caressing Brienne’s hair, a gesture and a duty Jaime would gladly take over to if he thought it’d help her at all. “Which means they’re still working, Brienne. It’s good news.” 

“Yes,” she nods. Sam said the same on the phone, but the longer the surgery lasts, her mental state will have more chances of going out of the window. “Pod?” 

“He’s downstairs, I’m afraid. We haven’t been able to send him back home.” 

Jaime approaches then, introducing himself to Olenna, albeit the less than ideal circumstances. He also rests his hand on Brienne’s shoulders and she cannot bring herself to shake him off. The older woman doesn’t remark on the physical contact between the two and just turns around to call for an elevator. On their descend to some floor underground, standing at the back of the elevator, Brienne holds onto Jaime’s hand like life itself, and he vows to never let her go if that’s what she needs. 

But she does release him, and Jaime couldn’t possibly hold her back when they step into a waiting room and she sees a boy, no older than ten, and kneels to the ground to meet her. 

“_Mommy!!”_ the shriek that escapes the boy’s mouth as he jumps off the chair and runs into Brienne’s arms couldn’t have possibly shocked Jaime more. He freezes under the threshold, and forgets all manners about introducing himself to the remaining friends and family. The scene in front of Jaime’s eyes is too captivating. Mother and child, he assumes, reunited after so damned long, under such stressing circumstances, embraced in a long, teary, hug. “I’m so sorry!! I know you’re always telling me that grandpa needs to rest, and I asked him to play war with him, and that’s when--”

“No, no, listen, it’s okay,” Brienne says over and over again, trying to shush him while wiping the tears off his eyes. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is. Do you understand?”

“But I. . . You’re always saying--” 

“You’re not to blame. I promise you,” Brienne insists softly, and this time, it seems like the message sinks in. The boy stops whimpering, but then comes the weeping, and he hides his face against Brienne’s neck. 

Caressing the boy’s hair and back, Brienne looks around. Jaime, as well as Olenna, Sammy, and Margaery, are all as scared and worried as she is. Albeit there might be more than one reason for Jaime’s stupor, she gathers, and she thanks the man for keeping quiet at the moment. Well, this is it. It’s all out in the open, now. Up until this morning, Jaime didn’t know she had a father she needed to take care of and that he was the reason she needed Jaime’s income so desperately. Now, he’s just learned about her son. He knows all about her family back in Vienna, the one she left for a goddamn well-paid job, the one she was supposed to come to visit on her days off, the one she abandoned. 

Olenna seems to understand her predicament, for she takes Podrick to the side, grabbing his sweater, and allows Brienne to properly greet Margaery with a long, tight hug. 

“Thank you for being here. We came as soon as we could.” 

“Yes, I can see,” nods Margaery, looking straight at Jaime above Brienne’s shoulder. She shivers and closes her eyes, telling herself not to turn around and face Jaime again. She does not need that right now, but she just cannot stop herself. She should have found the time to tell him. She should have found the strength. 

“He’s freaking out, isn’t he? I shouldn’t have let him come with me,” Bienne fears, her back to Jaime, unable to cross eyes with the man. All this silent journey back to Vienna, she couldn’t figure out a way to tell him everything. “He had no clue. He’s freaking out and now he’s going to leave Vienna.” _Leave me, just the way I did him. _

“He was right to come with you,” scowls Margaery. “I would have beat the leaving hell out of him if he hadn’t. And he’s shocked, of course, but give him a chance, Brienne. He’s just traveled three hundred miles because your father has been hospitalized and has just learned that you have a child. It’s a bit too much, for both of you.” 

“Right. Yes. Thank you.” 

Brienne sighs deeply, trying to prioritize her needs when she’s got no clue what’s north and what’s south. Jaime can wait--the explanations will have to wait. As a matter of fact, she now hears the man talking softly to Olenna, a woman he’s just met, as if the situation was entirely different. She’ll question him about the subject of the conversation at another time, too. 

First of all, there’s Pod. He cannot stay here, she decides. A hospital is no place for a six-year-old to spend the night. She turns around, taking the boy from Olenna’s arms. “Could I ask you to take him home, Margaery?”

“Of course,” says the woman, already reaching to take Podrick from Brienne’s arms. He’ll have none of it, however, and holds on tight to his mother. 

“No! I don’t want to leave!” 

“Honey, you cannot stay here,” Brienne tries to reason, as she takes Podrick’s sweater and forces him to put one arm first, then the other. “You’ve done all you could and I thank you for it, but now your shift has ended. You need to eat dinner and go to sleep.”

Those words confirm for Jaime, who’s been texting on the phone by the corner of the room, the conclusion he’d drawn earlier when they stopped for a coffee. When it comes to her own health, Brienne can be as stubborn as a child, but when it comes to taking care of someone else’s needs, maternal instincts hit and she becomes the best caretaker in the whole damm world. Even for a bunch of kids who aren’t her own. 

“Come on. Be a good boy for Mommy,” begs Briennne. Podrick in Margaery’s arms already, Brienne kisses the kid on the forehead tenderly. 

“I’ll call a cab--” 

“No need,” interjects Jaime. “My driver, Christopher, is waiting for you downstairs. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

“Thank you,” Brienne appreciates upon the stupor of her remaining friends. 

“Did you hear that, Pod? We’re going home with a private driver! How cool is that?” Margaery asks, to get the boy excited about the drive and going home, but he couldn’t look more forlorn and less interested in any of that. Alas, he doesn’t throw a tantrum and lets Margaery button his sweater before he follows her towards the elevators. 

“Olenna, thank you so much, but you do not need to stay either,” Brienne says, tired voice. Still trying to get as many people as possible away from the scene. 

“Are you sure, honey?” the old lady asks. 

“Yes. I’d rather you kept an eye on Podrick,” nods Brienne. She looks up at Jaime for confirmation, who takes Brienne’s hand as a response, and so Olenna gets all the reassurance she needed. 

“Of course,” she nods. “I’ll see you later. Nice meeting you, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Likewise, Mrs. Tyrell,” he nods. 

With Olenna gone, there’s only Sammy remaining in the waiting room, but Brienne is not going to throw him away too. He stood the moment Brienne and Jaime walked through the door and out of respect, hasn’t sat down still either. Now, he hugs Brienne, too. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

“What in the world happened?” shrieks Brienne. “Why does Pod think--?” 

“They were playing,” explains Sammy, scratching his neck, a bit uneasy himself. “Knights, soldiers, or whatever you call it. Your father was following Podrick around in his chair, and I was just preparing dinner. . . I was away for two minutes, and then Podrick raised the alarm. He was dizzy, he felt numb and weak on his left side, had trouble talking and breathing. . .” 

“A stroke,” Brienne confirms, putting a stop to Sammy’s listing, that were only causing her to get goosebumps all over her skin. “Oh, Gods, and Podrick was there, he saw it all. . .” 

Jaime steps forward, caressing her back. “It wasn’t your fault either, Brinny,” he whispers. The same way Brienne didn’t allow her son to blame himself for what’s transpired, he won’t allow Brienne to feel guilty, either. “You didn’t leave him with your father knowing what would happen.” 

“I think we got it in time,” says Sammy, the only beacon of hope they’ve heard all day. “Until the doctors say otherwise, there’s hope, Brienne.” 

“Yes,” she nods, as they slowly slid into two chairs. “Thank you for being here, Sammy.” 

“No need to thank me.” 

Jaime sits by the other side of Brienne, his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm--she’s cold, and it’s a good guess it’s not because of the AC, solely. She thanks him for knowing this isn't a good time for jokes, much less for asking about Podrick and the family she'd been hiding from him. No, he just remains quiet, letting Brienne utter the only question that matters, right now. There'll be time. That's what they keep saying, and somehow, life keeps getting in the way, time and time again. 

“How much longer. . .?”

“I really can’t say. We’re going to have to be patient here,” says Sam. 

At that, Brienne nods in understanding. Deflating like a burst balloon, the wretched energy she'd gotten from seeing her son in agony long gone now, she leans against Jaime, who in turn takes his jacket and uses it as a blanket for Brienne. He’s also texted Tyrion to let him know they got to the hospital safe and sound, and that he’ll text again if there are any developments, a message he’ll deliver to the kids, so he’s got nowhere else to go and nothing else to do except staying here for Brienne for as long as she’ll have him. 

Christopher shows up about twenty minutes later with the message that he delivered Podrick, Margaery, and Olenna safe and sound as well. 

“Thank you,” says Jaime in lieu of Brienne. 

“Can I get you anything?” Christopher asks before he sits down, too. “Tea, coffee? Something to eat, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Sammy replies. With nothing else that he can do, Christopher walks away some steps and finds a seat as well, ready to jump off his chair as soon as he can be of service to anyone. 

By the corner of the room, Jaime leans against the wall, and Brienne leans against him. His strong arms around her figure, Jaime kisses her hair once, but cannot accompany the gesture with any more reassuring words--he just caresses her arms, both trying to comfort Brienne and warm her. Holding her close and warm against the frightening neon lights of the hospital and the dark nightmares beyond those doors, towards the OR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it !! Unfortunately, due to personal reasons -- heavy family stuff -- I won't be able to write and/or publish anything for a little while. I apologize for the hiatus in advance and promise to come back as soon as humanly possible ! Thank you for sticking around in the meantime. I am dearly, truly sorry, but it's a major cause, I'm afraid !


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Brienne and Jaime at the hospital and see them weather through the night and the next morning, coping with Selwyn's state the best they can. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kindest of messages and comments, I confess they meant a lot. Things aren't quite fixed family-wise, but the only silver lining right now is that the quarantine has given me some time to tackle this work, so--here's another chapter !! Cannot promise a weekly update as before, but I wanted to, for the moment, share this with you all !

In that cold and isolated room, there are no measures of time. Sammy alternates playing on the phone with tapping fingers on his knee and whistling some melody. Brienne barely moves an inch in Jaime’s arms, her eyes locked on the entrance, waiting for news. Jaime finds soothing caressing Brienne’s arms and hair, for both Brienne and himself. Christopher remains silent too, but once in a while, he needs to go for a stroll and returns ten minutes later, asking every once in a while if he can get them anything to at or drink. 

At some point, a couple of doctors step through the doors and ask for Selwyn Tarth’s family. Sammy jumps to his feet. Brienne, on the other hand, freezes. She hasn’t closed an eye the whole time, so Jaime knows she didn’t fall asleep, but she’s just scared out of her mind. 

“Brinny,” he coaxes her, whispering into her ear. She somehow finds the strength to stand, and he keeps his arm around her shoulders. He can’t help but trying to read the doctors’ answer--they look exhausted, albeit with reassuring smiles on their faces. 

“I’m his daughter,” Brienne says, fear in her voice. 

“I’m doctor Rutherford. I’m pleased to say that your father is out of surgery,” he says. “We wouldn’t say he’s out of danger just yet, but he got through the operation remarkably well, all things considered.”

“I see,” Brienne manages to utter, holding onto Jaime’s arm with both hands. Upon such good news, Jaime can’t stop himself and kisses Brienne’s shoulder, feeling her shiver as she tries to hold back the weeping. 

“Recovery?” asks Sam. 

“It’ll be a long road, but we’re hopeful,” says the doctor. “He needs to rest, for now.”

“Can I see him?” Brienne begs. 

“Not tonight. As I said, he needs to rest, and he won’t wake up from the anesthesia for some long hours to come. I’d suggest you all get a good night’s sleep and we shall talk in the morning. I promise the nurses will take really good care of your father.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” Jaime appreciates. 

When doctor Rutherford leaves the room, Christopher comes in, carrying a tray with teas and looking astounded that he missed the chat with the doctor. 

“I am sorry, sir,” he apologizes, but no one minds him not being there. Brienne has dropped back on her chair and tears are filling her eyes. Jaime sits by her side, one arm around her shoulders, pulling the hair away from her face. He kisses her cheek and says again that her father pulled through the operation--will say so as many times as Brienne needs. 

Eventually, she starts to settle, as the news really sink in. 

“Go home, Sammy,” she says in a deep sigh. “You should have left hours ago.”

“No place and no one needed me at the time,” the man replies softly, resting his hand on Brienne’s shoulder. 

“We _all_ should go,” says Jaime, and Brienne’s shock and outrage shouldn’t really come as a surprise. “You heard the doctor, Brinny. You won’t be able to see your father tonight. Staying here won’t help him, either. The best you can do is to rest properly at home and come back in the morning, rested and refreshed.” 

“Really, I think it’s for the best,” agrees Sammy, while Jaime offers his hand to help Brienne stand. 

It takes her a few beats to make up her mind, but in the end, she does stand. Everyone breathes a little better for her choosing the right option and not forcing anyone else staying overnight, forcing unnecessary exhaustion and worry all around. Jaime even kisses her on the forehead as a reward for her seeing right from wrong. Sammy offers Jaime his and Brienne’s jackets, as Christopher leads the way to the elevator, and Jaime holds Brienne by the arm, his stump on her lower back. 

“Where should we take you, Sam?” Jaime asks when they’re across the street. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a cab--”

“Address, sir?” asks Christopher. Sam blushes and drops the pretense by giving his address, allowing Christopher to introduce it to the GPS. In the meantime, Jaime has helped Brienne into the car, where she can finally stop shivering, provided the heat on. 

Jaime keeps Brienne as close as possible, not giving a damn what Sam might think. There’s little to no traffic, and the lights Christopher abides by feel almost useless when there are no pedestrians and virtually no other vehicles driving around the city past midnight. 

“What’s going to happen come morning?” asks Brienne after they stop at the third red light in a row. 

“You know the drill,” sighs Sammy, fighting back a yawn. “Your father will stay at the hospital for a few days, until he regains his strength. Then it’s back home. We might have to talk about other possibilities to take care of him full time--”

“Right,” interjects Brienne, stern voice. Her eyes shut, she looks nowhere ready to have this conversation. Jaime and Sam exchange one look and silently agree to keep quiet for now, but silently agree that, if it does come to that, the two of them will sit down and discuss with total honesty what’s best for Selwyn’s recovery--what’s best for Brienne, as well. 

In the silence of the limousine, Brienne almost dozes off. They don’t say another word until Christopher pulls up in front of Sammy’s apartment. 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” says Sam on his way out, shaking Jaime’s left hand. 

Jaime didn’t believe for a second that Brienne had actually fallen asleep, and is proven right when Christopher parks in front of Brienne’s address and she opens her eyes right away. She’s got enough strength to climb up three whole flights of stairs, albeit if she were to crumble, she’d have Jaime and Christopher at her six. 

Finally, she takes the keys for apartment D, but before she struggles with the lock, Margaery opens from inside--must have heard them come up. She looks at Brienne expectantly. 

“He’s just gotten out of surgery,” says Brienne. “I’ll return in the morning.” 

“Oh, thank Gods,” Margaery whispers, hugging Brienne tightly. 

The two women start whimpering right there in the hall, and Jaime sighs quietly. It’s still going to take them a while to turn in for the night, he reckons. He turns in the small hall, so narrow that Christopher is standing by the second to last step of the stair. He’s still carrying Brienne’s bags, and that’s what Jaime demands, resting them on his left shoulder alongside his own traveling bag. 

“Thank you for everything, Christoph. You go rest too. Check in at the Palais Coburg Residenz under my name. . . Let’s say for a week. If there’re any problems, have the hotel call me.” 

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“Please try contacting my brother. I’m too beat to call them right now.” 

“Will do, sir. I’ll see you here at--?” 

“Seven-thirty.” 

“Very good. Goodnight,” nods the driver, without waiting to say a proper farewell to Brienne or Margaery. 

“He’s a tough man,” Margaery says then. 

“He is,” agrees Brienne. “Pod?” 

“I don’t think he’s sleeping, but he’s not putting much of a fight, either,” explains Margaery in a whisper. “I can stay, if you need me to.”

“No, that’s alright. Get some sleep,” says Brienne. 

“I need to tell my granny the good news,” says Margaery.

Jaime steps back to allow Margaery space to get out of the apartment. Tears fresh in her eyes, she wishes them both goodnight and crosses the hall to the apartment E. She opens it without a key, and they see light inside. 

The floor creaks by Jaime’s side when Brienne grabs him by the wrist to drag him inside her apartment. He wants to chastise himself when the first thought that crosses his mind is how small and crumpled the apartment is. Two adult people like Brienne and himself can barely stand side by side at the entrance, and if they try to move, they risk knocking something over. 

“Where do you want this?” he asks, carrying Brienne’s bag. 

“Oh. In here,” she asks, pointing at the first door to the left. She opens the door and the light to let him through, and Jaime deduces instantly this isn’t Brienne’s room. A custom-made bed clearly made for her father presides the room, apart from cabinets filled with medications, a medical briefcase open on a corner, and varying medical books on the shelves. There is a chair on the other side of the room, but as far as he can see, no spare bed. 

He lays Brienne’s bag on the chair, Brienne following behind. She stops by the bed, hardly able to touch the sheets or blankets. 

“Jaime, what. . . What is going on?” she asks in a whisper. “You’re staying here? For a week?”

“For as long as you need,” he corrects her softly. It wasn’t even a question. 

“And your kids?”

“You heard them. They’ll kick my ass if I return while you still need me here,” he says, the hint of humor on his voice. The conversation--which almost feels as if it happened days ago--brings an untimely smile to Brienne’s lips, as well. 

“I know this isn’t the kind of situation we had in mind when we talked about coming to Vienna,” she says, almost as if apologizing. 

“Well, life happens,” Jaime shrugs. Feeling stupid for the distance between them, he goes around the bed and stands by Brienne’s side, gently dragging her to sit on the bed. “I can understand that.

“But, since you mentioned my children. . . I think Podrick was never brought up in our conversation yesterday morning.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have,” she says, burying her face behind her hands. “It was just too much to begin with, Jaime, I couldn’t tell you all about him, not just yet. This... Us... It was supposed to be slower, give us both time to know the little things.” 

“I’m not mad, honey. I mean, I have seven children, I wouldn’t have freaked out over you having one of your own, too, even at your young age. I’m just saying, you could have told me. This is the kind of thing we were supposed to share, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, really?” she scoffs. “I don’t recall you opening up either, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Don’t give me that,” he scowls. His hand, that up until this very moment had been stroking Brienne’s hair, freezes and moves back. “Don’t ‘Mr. Lannister’ me now. What in the world have I done? What don’t you know about me? I told you all about how I lost my freaking hand! Have you forgotten that?” 

“What about the state of your Empire?” she shoots back. “You were pretty reserved about that.”

“Really!” he scoffs. “Should I tell you how deep in debt we are, then? Or maybe you’d like to hear all about how my wife died of cancer--”

“Please, Jaime, stop this.”

There’s such heartbreak and despair in Brienne’s plea that Jaime stops talking immediately. He sits back a bit and closes his eyes, while reaching his hand to take hers. What in the world is he doing? How is he messing this whole thing up so badly? The past twenty-four hours have been an emotional turmoil for the two of them, and more of a nightmare for poor Brienne. Right now, he’s doing the opposite of helping her throughout one of her most difficult nights she’s had since she started working for him, probably. He’s just snapped at her without any reason, when the only thing in her mind should be to relax and get some sleep. He’s a piece of trash and always will be.

“I’m sorry, Brinny,” he whispers, leaning to kiss her on the shoulder. “I guess I’m tired as well, but it’s no excuse. What can I do? How can I help?” 

She smiles at his attentiveness. “I think I could use a shower.”

“Marvelous idea,” approves Jaime, jumping off the bed. However, no more actions follow, for he’s got no idea how to help in that regard--doesn’t even know where the bathroom is. Laughing at his predicament, Brienne stands too, slow movements, and hugs Jaime, wordlessly thanking him everything. From coming here to Vienna with her, to staying at the hospital, to staying at her place. 

“Let me just get some clothes,” she says, unzipping her bag and taking out the few dresses and shirts she took from Salzburg. 

“Your room?” asks Jaime. She could do with a clean set of clothes. 

“I share my bedroom with Podrick’s. We manage,” she promises, looking at Jaime above the shoulder. Instead of promising he wasn’t judging their lifestyle, which would sound as fake as a thirteen cents coin, he just remains silent. 

“You’ll have to settle on the couch,” whispers Brienne, pointing at the living room straight across from Selwyn’s room. “Not sure you’re going to fit in, though.” 

“Do not worry about me,” scowls Jaime, throwing his bag over the couch. He follows Brienne down the hallway and she stops in front of the last door to the left. “Can I do anything else?” 

“No, it’s okay. You can go to sleep,” Brienne says, resting a hand on his chest. He hopes she knows he’s never going to try and get any sleep until she does, but once more, remains quiet. A quarrel over sleep is the last thing she needs. 

With that, she enters the bathroom and Jaime falls back, returning to the living room--taking the time to locate the kitchen and what he assumes to be Brienne’s and Podrick’s room. He drops dead on the couch and takes his cell phone for the first time in hours. He’s got almost fifty messages from the kids and Tyrion, all demanding news on Brienne’s father, albeit the latest texts are more calmed, right after Christopher managed to contact Tyrion. From then on, they all beg him to stay with Brienne for as long as she needs. He answers a few of the texts, confirming the news they got from Christopher. Jon even answers right away, and Jaime reassures him that he’s going to stay here for as long as it takes--and then orders his son, and any other stray kids as well, to go to sleep immediately. 

Their concern over Brienne makes Jaime crack a smile, even. The children do care about Brienne, whatever she might become in the future. And that he’s staying in Vienna for the foreseeable future goes without saying, too. Indeed, this isn’t what he had in mind when he waited for Brienne to return from her jog yesterday morning. Not by a long shot. Alas, here they are. And they will get through it. 

Someone turns on the kitchen light and starts rummaging cabinets and making a horrible noise, which surprises him, for he can still hear the shower water running in the bathroom. Peeking above the couch, Jaime sees Podrick standing on a chair and struggling to reach a certain cabinet for some cookies. Jaime smiles again. Sadly, he knows the kid isn’t allowed to eat--much less be awake--at such late hour, but he also understands how eating could be compelling in moments of hardship. With that in mind, he stands. 

“And here I thought I’d have the cookies all for myself,” he says as he enters the kitchen. 

A bit scared, Podrick jumps off the chair and tries his best to look reasonably ashamed by his transgression. Jaime puts the chair back and motions for Podrick to sit on it. 

“I’m Jaime Lannister. I’m a good friend of your mother’s,” he says, in case the boy doesn’t remember him from the hospital, which would be totally normal. The poor lad was freaking out and had only eyes for his mother, no one and nothing else. “You’re Podrick, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” says the boy. 

“And I’m going to guess you’re not allowed to grab cookies from that jar, are you?”

He refuses to answer, but that's answer enough for Jaime, who just smiles fondly at the boy. “Are you hungry, Podrick?” 

“Yes,” he confesses, and just for the drama, his stomach rumbles. He blushes, something he certainly inherited from his mother, and Jaime just bursts out laughing. 

“I understand, I understand,” he says. 

He stands and checks the fridge. It’s surprisingly empty considering a toddler lives in this apartment, but Jaime is lucky enough to find cheese and cold turkey. At the cabinet Podrick was rummaging he saw bread to make a proper sandwich, so he sets off preparing a late-night snack. He has a little bit of trouble cutting off the crusts of the toasts, but manages. 

Curiosity beats Podrick at some point, and he approaches the counter to watch Jaime prepare the sandwich. Jaime warns him to be careful about the cutting knife he used, but also gives him a piece of cold turkey to work up an appetite. 

“Where’s your hand?” the boy asks. 

Putting down the turkey, Jaime freezes. Podrick’s not the first person, kid or otherwise, to enquire about his missing hand, and Jaime is more than used to giving dismissing responses, but he was not prepared to have Brienne’s kid asking about his hand, prosthetic or not. 

“I lost it,” he says, resuming his work. 

“Where?” 

This time, Jaime chuckles and decides he’s going to humor the kid. 

“At home,” he answers, which isn’t a complete lie--his prosthetic sunk in his Manor’s lake, after all. He finally presents the two sandwiches and lays the dishes on the table. He prepares as well two glasses of milk, pointing at Podrick to join him. 

“And you haven’t been able to find it?”

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“You should ask my Mommy to help you. She always finds everything I lose,” he suggests, biting into his sandwich. 

“Maybe I will,” he grants after some seconds. Watching Podrick eat, Jaime smiles fondly, hoping, too, that this isn’t the first thing he’s eating since the hospitalization of his grandfather. 

At some point during their meal, the shower stops running. Scared out of his mind, mouth full still, Podrick looks up at Jaime, knowing the telling off he’ll receive if Brienne sees him there. He wipes his fingers on the napkin. 

“Erase the evidence,” Jaime instructs in a whisper. Podrick doesn’t seem to understand and he elaborates, “Finish in your room.” 

Without a word, Podrick grabs his dish and glass and runs off to his bedroom. Jaime stands to prepare a third sandwich--maybe he’ll be able to convince Brinny to eat something, too. 

She emerges from the bathroom five minutes later, wearing pajamas--_those_ damn pajamas, that get a chuckle from Jaime--and still drying her hair on a towel. She smiles and there’s such a glimmer in her eyes that Jaime vows to himself he’ll prepare her a thousand midnight snacks just to see her blush so adoringly. 

“You’re an angel,” she says, sitting across from Jaime. 

“And you’re going to catch a cold,” scowls the man, standing. He takes Brienne’s towel and, with some difficulty, he starts drying her hair. He orders her to eat in the meantime, too, just to save time. When she’s finished her sandwich, he washes the dishes as best as he can. Having stewards who take care of domestic chores does pay off when one has lost their right hand, indeed--he’s only starting to see that. 

“Time to sleep now?” Brienne asks. 

“High time,” agrees Jaime, pointing towards her room. Or Selwyn’s room. Luckily she doesn’t think about checking in on Podrick, but Jaime guesses he’s smart enough to have hidden his dish somewhere and to have his light off already, upon such eventuality.

“I really don’t think you’ll be comfortable. . .” she tries arguing as they walk down the hallway. 

“Stop worrying about everybody else,” he interjects, dragging her forward, the floor creaking at their feet. “Try to sleep.”

Uncertain still, Brienne shuts her door ever so slowly, feeling she’s violating every host and guest contract ever made by turning in before Jaime. He stands there waiting for her to shut the door and holds his breath for a few beats still, until he hears her footsteps stepping away from the door. 

At that moment, he returns to the living room and lets himself drop dead on the couch, some of the old springs bouncing under his weight. Sighing, he rests his head against his hand, later running it through his hair, messing it even worse. _Hell of a day,_ he scowls, taking one shoe, then the other, off. Brienne was partially right, this wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Even if he’d slept at the Palais Coburg, he wouldn’t have gotten any more sleep than the four hours he gets. Considering he sleeps an average of five hours a day, it’s almost a personal record of his waking up with sunlight. He stands groaning, his lower back hurting more than he would confess. 

First thing he does, even before he procures himself a cup of coffee, is to check his phone. He’s only got a text from Tyrion, but it looks like the children are asleep still. On the other hand, the office has been up and running for a while, now: he’s got multiple missed phone calls, emails piling up, and texts. He cannot deal with any of it right now, so he just puts the phone where it laid before. 

He goes to the bathroom to refreshen a bit, not quite comfortable enough taking a shower in someone else’s home. He settles by shaving and putting on deodorant before changing shirts, choosing a soft, clear blue sky today and the same black trousers from yesterday. Back in the living room, Brienne surprises him by waiting at the couch. 

“I told you you wouldn’t sleep well in here.” 

“And I told you you didn’t have to worry about it,” he sighs, dropping by her side, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “I’m a nocturnal animal, I don’t get much sleep either way.” 

“Don’t I know it,” sighs Brienne. 

“What about you?” he asks softly--she’s the one he’s worried about. 

“I think I scraped by a few hours,” nods Brienne. She grabs his hand too, and blushes--what in the world is she thinking of. “You being here made all the difference.”

“My pleasure,” he says, taking her hand and kissing her palm. 

They let a few beats pass by, the clock on the kitchen ticking every second. Jaime surprises himself by his ability of sleeping despite the clock he now hears as hammers, for he’s usually unable to sleep with any minor inconvenience.

There are two soft knocks on the door and before poor Podrick wakes up at such ungodly hour, Jaime jumps off the couch to answer, Brienne following closely behind. He’d half expected to see Margaery, but turns out, it’s Christopher. Seven-thirty sharp. 

“Morning, sir. Ma’am,” he greets. 

“Christopher. Kind of an early morning, isn’t it?” Brienne greets, apologetic tone. 

“That’s alright, miss Tarth. I took the liberty of calling the hospital ahead of you. Apparently Mr. Tarth has enjoyed a quiet night, but hasn’t woken up just yet. I’ve been assured that’s within normal parameters in his case and that there’s no reason to worry for the time being.” 

“Oh, that is wonderful,” Brienne sighs, resting her head against Jaime’s shoulder. “Thank you.” 

“I can take you to the hospital whenever you want, miss.” 

“Just five minutes,” she promises. 

Down the hall, another door opens--and Margaery shows up, sleep in her eyes, putting a sweater over her head. “Gods, you’re noisy. Any developments?” 

“Yes, there are,” nods Brienne, getting outside of the hall to meet her. As she delivers the news, Christopher addresses Jaime again. 

“Sir, I am sorry to trouble you with this, but there are some company matters you need to attend to, I’m afraid. The office sent a few papers for you to sign, and you need to proofread these documents,” he informs, handing Jaime a folder. “Also, you need to reschedule the meetings you missed the last couple of days. Showing up at HQ wouldn’t be amiss, as a matter of fact.” 

“Gods, Christopher, slow down. You’re killing me here. I haven’t even _looked_ at a cup of coffee just yet,” scowls Jaime, rubbing his eyes. 

At that, Christopher chuckles under his breath and next, presents his boss with a tray of coffees--three mugs, to be precise. Jaime scowls and runs a hand through his hair just before he takes one of the cups, breathing in the scent. 

“Well, do me a favor. I don’t know how much coffee you drink in the morning, but please, start to reduce it by half.” 

“Oh, don’t listen to him, Christoph,” Brienne replies from the end of the hall, the hint of amusement on her voice. “You do an amazing job and Mr. Lannister truly appreciates it.” 

“Thank you, miss,” he appreciates with a bow. 

“Don’t put words into my mouth,” scowls Jaime, but then waves for Christopher to step inside Brienne’s apartment. “Well, come in. Let me sign those forsaken papers.” 

Out in the hall, Brienne and Margaery wait until Christoph shuts the door to resume their conversation. Apart from the news on Selwyn, they were also discussing Mr. Lannister himself. And, for Brienne’s sake, Margaery invites her over to her apartment. 

“I see he stayed the night,” Margaery points out.

“Whatever you’re thinking happened, it did not happen.” 

“The point I was trying to make was that he didn’t freak out after all,” she says. “He didn’t run screaming for the hills nor abandon you.” 

“No, he didn’t,” confirms Brienne, smiling for the first time since yesterday. “In fact, I think he’s planning on staying in spite of having slept on that damned couch.” 

“There you have it.” 

“What?” Brienne demands, for Margaery looks as pleased as if she’d solved the mystery of the century. 

“I mean, he didn’t come to Vienna for me of all people, and he didn’t stay for the cuisine or the couch either, did he?” she points out. “It was all for _you._ Is that so hard to accept?” 

Brienne smiles fondly. “I’m beginning to understand.” 

“Your relationship has been put to the test way too early, but the results so far have been entirely successful, have they not?”

“Maybe,” grants Brienne, blushing at Margaery’s questioning. _Gods, what in the world am I thinking?_ she chastises herself then. _Your father is in a hospital, for Pete’s sake._ “I--I need to go change.” 

“I’ll be over there in a minute,” promises Margaery, squeezing her hand. 

“Thanks,” appreciates Brienne. 

Upon returning to her apartment, she finds Jaime and Christoph standing in the middle of the living room, checking some papers, the former holding his phone between his ear and shoulder and speaking to Gods know who. 

“Podrick?” Brienne whispers. 

“Not yet up, miss,” Christoph answers. 

“I’ll go change now.” 

“There’s no hurry, take all the time you need.”

Brienne shuts the door to Selwyn’s room, grabs the first set of clothing she sets her eyes on, and heads back to the bathroom for a short shower. Fortunately, when she’s done, Podrick hasn’t woken up yet, so there won’t be any early morning battles to face the day. She does prepare a bowl of cereals and some cookies for him to eat for breakfast, but can’t bring herself to wake him up, even to say goodbye, in the off chance that he’s the only member of the family who’s managed to get some sleep at all. 

As she walks past the living room again to fetch her purse, Jaime looks up from the documents he was going over with Christopher. 

“You’re ready?” 

“Yes, but if you need to finish whatever that is, I can take the subway,” Brienne says. 

“Don’t be absurd,” scowls Jaimie. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” Christopher apologizes, putting away the folders he was holding for Jaime. 

Jaime gives him his fountain pen and cell phone and meets Brienne in the hallway. Not caring about Christopher’s presence there, he hugs Brienne by the waist and gives her the smallest of good morning kisses. For some very brief seconds, Brienne forgets about everything else and gets lost in the moment, allowing herself to enjoy Jaime’s touch again. 

“Breakfast?” suggests Jaime when they pull apart. 

Her stomach grumbles, but Brienne shakes her head against his chest. “Maybe later. I couldn’t swallow anything right now.” 

The answer upsets Jaime, but he couldn’t bring himself to force Brienne into anything, and so he just takes her hand to leave. It is then when they realize that Margaery has showed up at some point--not only that, Christopher has left to wait for them downstairs. They blush at their obliviousness and their temporarily spacing out, albeit no one feels the need to dwell on any of it. Brienne hugs Margaery to thank her for staying over and then she and Jaime leave. 

In the bright light of a new day, Brienne’s recovered her strength, and Jaime takes the chance to look through the windows and discover the city. Of course, he’s been in Vienna many times before, but never with someone he loves so much, never with as strong and fierce a woman as Brienne. Whenever he sits on the back seats for Christopher to drive him around, he’s got his nose down some paperwork or another, and never takes the time to stare at his surroundings--at Brienne’s neighborhood. Holding her hand in the empty space between them makes all the difference in the world. 

He knew in advance this wasn’t a sight-seeing tour, and at some point, inevitably, Christoph pulls up at the hospital. Following the man’s instructions, he leads them to the ICU, where they took Selwyn at some point throughout the night. Brienne storms into the room to grab her father’s hand, dropping onto one of the armchairs. After making sure that Selwyn doesn’t wake up at the arrival of his daughter, Jaime steps back to check with the nurses. He gets the same response Christoph got, that they need to be patient right now, and breathes a little bit easier knowing the chauffeur wasn’t hiding Brienne anything. 

Granting Brienne and her father the privacy they deserve, Jaime takes off his jacket and sits on a plastic chair out in the hallway. He’s just now receiving a phone call from Tyrion and he takes it just so he can deliver the message that they _all_ need to be patient, including his children in Salzburg, and that he will call if there are any developments. 

Over the next few hours, there are none. Now and then, Jaime steps into the room to keep Brienne company, sitting on the spare chair of the room; and once per hour, he offers to stay watching over the patient to allow Brienne to go take a stroll and grab something to eat. But whether Selwyn stays with his daughter or Jaime, he doesn’t wake up yet. 

Sunlight peeks through the single window in the wall, but it’s unable to warm the room, or chase away the nightmares lurking in the corners, or the fears that have settled in all their minds and do not dare to utter. Whenever Brienne’s in the room watching over her father, she’s holding onto his hand and uttering under her breath a song Jaime does not know. 

  
_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens _  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings..._  


The one thing Jaimes does get are, however, phone calls. In spite of his conversation with Tyrion, the kids keep calling him every half an hour, at least. And then there’s the office: they keep texting him, sending him important emails, calling him every five minutes with urgent business. Even Tywin starts pestering him--summoning him, in fact. He ends up so fed up that he’s this close to turning off his phone for good. 

“Miss,” says Christopher, approaching with a tray of beverages. Brienne accepts the plastic cup with a soft smile--of course, Christopher has spent his morning looking after her and Jaime in turn, making sure they wouldn’t starve or dehydrate. 

“Thank you,” she appreciates. She’s shook by the first sip. “The hospital tea tastes nothing like that. I should know,” she scoffs. “Where in the world did you find this?” 

“Trade secret, miss,” he winks at her. 

Unable to fight with the chauffeur right now, Brienne gets comfortable on her chair and enjoys her tea for a bit, now that she can pretend to relax, as Christoph walks away somewhere. But then, by her side, Jaime scowls upon taking a look at the caller ID and puts away his cell phone. 

“Work?” she asks softly. “Do you need to go to the office, Jaime? Christoph will take good care of me.” 

“No,” he scowls, resting his head against the wall. 

“You don’t trust Christoph, all of a sudden?” 

“No, as in I don’t need to go to the office, because I will not be leaving you alone. And no, it wasn’t the office, either,” he explains, tired voice. 

“If it’s not work, then--” It takes Brienne a second more to draw out the correct conclusion, and Jaime scowls as he sees the stupor in her eyes, the outrage she’s got no words to utter upon him ignoring his family’s calls. She simply retorts to taking his cell phone, keeping him on his chair with her spare hand against his chest, and checks the missed calls log. She only needs to press redial and wait for two seconds before someone on the other side answers. “Hello?” 

Since Brienne already went through all that trouble, Jaime’s not about to hang up the call, but he does take his cell phone back in order to put it on speaker. He does want a say and some sort of control over the conversation. 

“Hey, guys,” he greets, stern in his voice. “I told your uncle that I would call if there were any news, and there aren’t, so in this case scenario, no news is good news.” 

“So, your father hasn’t woken up yet, Miss Tarth?” asks Sansa. 

“Not yet, but I’m sure he will, soon,” says Brienne, and at that, Jaime groans. This is what he wanted to avoid from the beginning: Brienne giving his kids hope and reassuring them. It should be the other way around, which is the support he was trying to give her. “The doctors are pretty confident.” 

“But why hasn’t he?” demands little Rickon. 

“Well,” Brienne starts, exchanging one look with Jaime, asking for permission. He nods, allowing her free reign; she knows how to take care of his own children better than him. “You know when we go out on excursions many days in a row and you’re very, very tired, and go to sleep early so you wake up well rested in the morning?” 

“Yeah,” nods Rickon. 

“This is similar.”

“But it’s morning, already.” 

“My father needs a lot of rest right now, and the doctors are helping him with it, that’s why he’s in a hospital,” explains Brienne. “But he’ll come back home very soon, I’m sure.” 

“And you’ll come back to Salzburg?” 

Brandon’s question does make both Jaime and Brienne freeze. Not once have they mentioned what’s going to happen between the two of them this afternoon or come morning, much less in the immediate future, when Selwyn’s out of the hospital. Debating their options right now with the kids isn’t the best course of action either and this time, Jaime takes charge. 

“We’ll have to see, depending on Miss Tarth’s father’s condition,” he says. “Listen, we can’t talk right now. I promise to call if there's any news.” 

“Bye, Miss Tarth!” they all yell. 

“We send you all our love and kisses and hugs!” 

“Thank you, all,” Brienne bids farewell, the hint of tears appearing in the corner of her eyes. As soon as Jaime puts his phone away, however, she gives him a stern look. “Jaime Lannister, why on Earth were you ignoring your children’s calls?” 

“I’m sorry!” he begs, rubbing his eyes. “I just didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

“I taught you better than that!” she insists, hitting him on the chest. 

“You certainly did,” he grants. 

He hugs Brienne by the shoulders so he can gently pull her into an embrace against his chest, to stop her hurting him and also her rant. They both take a very deep breath, their eyes locked on the entrance to the hospital room where Selwyn lies. Jaime’s stubble itches Brienne’s cheek, and his hand rests across her shoulders, caressing her arm in soothing motions. 

“He’s going to be fine,” he promises. 

“I know,” she nods, way too fast. Jaime holds her a little tighter, feeling the nervousness she would never confess to any of the kids--not even Podrick. 

“What else can I do?” he begs in a whisper against her hair. 

She ponders for all of two seconds. “You could check in on Podrick.” 

“I meant _here_ and you know it,” he scoffs, letting her go so they can have this conversation face-to-face. She takes his hand in hers. 

“Here, I know all you can do, which is nothing--” 

“Brinny!” 

“Which is just as much as what I can do,” she finishes her sentence. “You’ll be much more useful to me taking care of Pod. Margaery works the afternoon shift, which means she’ll either leave him with her grandmother, or she’ll bring him here, and I won’t have him spending another afternoon at the hospital.” 

Jaime lets her talk and, after she’s finished, ponders for a few more seconds. His instincts tell him he should stay with Brienne, keep her company while her father’s out of it still. But her arguments are so compelling, he can find no words to refute any of them. After all, Podrick is still and always will be a top priority of hers. If this is what she needs him to do, who is he to contradict her? 

“Christoph will stay with you,” he decides. “And call me--” 

“If there's any news,” she nods. 

“--If you need me for anything at all,” he corrects her, standing. “Even if it’s just a double Expresso from Starbucks. Call me and I’ll be here in a flash.” 

She smiles again--Jaime’s whole world brightens at the sight--and hands him his jacket. He leans to grab it and kiss her briefly on the lips. Before he leaves for good, he walks past Selwyn’s room, making sure the patient didn’t wake up while they were seated outside. There have been no changes in that darkened and small room, however, he sighs as he puts on his jacket, buttoning it with a practiced left hand. He fights the urge to talk to one of the nurses. They’ve already got his and Christopher’s cell phone, they know who they should contact in case something happens. 

“Any tips on how to deal with Podrick?” he asks as he meets Brienne again. Him standing, her seated on the chair, she’s looking up at him for once, and he reaches a hand to cup her chin, a bit torn still. Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t leave Brienne. . . And is scared out of his mind about spending any time alone with Podrick. Has he fallen in love with Wonder Woman by any chance? How strong a woman must Brienne be to leave her hometown and her family for a job taking care of children she didn’t know? _Seven_ children, no less? 

“I’ll let you two get acquainted on your own terms,” she replies, a sneaky smile on her lips. 

“Is he going to put me through Hell?” fears Jaime. 

“Not the kind of Hell your kids put me through on my first week.” 

“Well, that’s somewhat reassuring, I guess,” Jaime sighs deeply, entwining his fingers with Brienne’s. “I’ll see you later.” They slowly let each other go, and as Jaime walks down the hall, he keeps looking over his shoulder now and then--meeting Brienne’s eyes every time. 

“Where to, sir?” Christopher asks by the elevators. 

“Home.” 

Jaime’s unconscious response in reference to Brienne’s apartment freezes both men. In shock, eyebrows frowned, they look at each other for some long seconds, Jaime fumbling for words, feeling the colors rush to his cheeks, in a twisted parallel to Brienne’s normal reaction to almost everything he said and did back at the beginning. 

“I meant to say, Miss Tarth’s home, her apartment--” 

“I understood, sir,” Christoph promises, sparing him the embarrassment. “There’s not much traffic right now, we’ll be there in under ten minutes.” 

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it !  
I hope, too, that you and your family members and friends are safe and sound despite the Covid-19, wherever you live ! Perhaps this chapter can help meddle through the quarantine... :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime spends the afternoon with Podrick. Meanwhile, taking care of Brienne was always at the top of his priority list. However, Jaime's work gets in the way in the form of Tywin Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello back everyone ! I apologize in advance for not being as consistent with this work as I once were, and I'm afraid I won't be publishing any chapters next week, either. . . Just hope you enjoy this one anyway !!

“Say, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Jaime,” he insists again, albeit the boy won’t use his first name still. 

“Why doesn’t the sky fall on us?” he asks, now that he’s finished his ice-cream, and Jaime has managed to get him to wash his face on a napkin. 

_Well, dammit, what am I supposed to say that? _ Jaime fears, shifting on the bench. What is it with this kid’s curiosity? Jaime doesn’t remember his own children going through such a phase to question everything around them and everything in the universe, but then again, he did miss most of their childhood, to begin with. 

“Well, it’s very high up, you don’t need to worry about it falling.” 

“But everything falls, right? If you throw a ball upwards, it’ll fall back, it doesn’t matter how hard you kick it,” insists Podrick. “Isn’t that what gra. . . Grave. . .” 

“Come on, you’ve got it,” Jaime encourages. “Gravity.” 

“That’s right. Gravity,” nods Podrick. “Isn’t that what keeps us on the floor and not floating around? Why doesn’t it affect the sky too?” 

Smiling nonetheless at the kid’s charming curiosity, Jaime looks up at the clear, blue sky, almost as if looking for inspiration. At that moment a plane crosses the sky, leaving a white trail behind him, and Jaime hurries to answer Podrick before he gets interested in the vehicle and wonders how planes manage to fly given their weight. 

“Well, the sky isn’t like a paper stuck to the ceiling of your room, you know? It’s not something that can fall. The sky is air, it’s empty space. . . It’s weightless, so gravity doesn’t work on it as it works on the rest of us.” 

Podrick ponders the answer long and quietly, and Jaime holds his breath, in case he’s got more questions about the sky. How he wishes the boy would just jump off the bench and run around the park like any other kid, go to the swings, run the obstacle course again--anything, if he could just take pity on him and spare him. 

“Do aliens really exist?” he asks then. 

“Some people say they do,” explains Jaime, leaning back on the bench. In spite of the struggles Podrick puts him through, he’s kind of enjoying himself. He hasn’t had such a substantial conversation with anyone in. . . Well, might have been years. “There are other planets like the Earth out there, and some people believe we humans cannot possibly be the only lucky and privileged ones to enjoy life as we know it. 

“The thing is, we still haven’t found any concrete proof of life beyond the Earth, so we cannot categorically say, for the moment, that there is or there isn’t life in another Planet.” 

A football bounces towards them and hits Jaime’s leg harmlessly. Podrick jumps off to grab it and hand it over to one of the players who come to fetch the football. He is frankly a wonderful kid, he is, Jaime reckons, in silent awe. Brinny’s done marvelous things raising him singlehandedly, there is no wonder she could get through his children so wonderfully, too. 

Jaime got to Brienne’s right around midday, and thank the Gods Margaery had prepared some pasta beforehand, for Jaime couldn't have cooked anything that elaborate. After Margaery left, Podrick asked for the first--and last--time if they could go to the hospital to visit his mother and grandfather, and took Jaime's negative with astonishing grace. He has asked nearly once per hour if Selwyn has woken up, which was the least Jaime could have expected from the toddler. Unfortunately, it would seem he’s quite used to the drill of having his grandfather hospitalized. 

He perked up when Jaime and he took care of the remaining evidence of his transgression from last night, that is, cleaning the dish and glass he hid under his bed. After that, they watched a bit of TV, but no more than twenty minutes--long enough for Jaime to deal with some things from the office--before he dragged Podrick out of the house for a walk. 

They’ve ended up at a park nearby, and Podrick has consecrated all his remaining energy running up and down the place, a rhythm Jaime could barely keep up with. All throughout the afternoon, however, he’s been the victim of Podrick’s incessant questions, and albeit he doesn’t know the answer to all of them, Jaime finds solace and satisfaction in that Pod feels comfortable enough around and toward him to question him so thoroughly. 

Up until now, they’ve covered all sorts of subjects: where does electricity come from, why do he and his friends have to do homework for school, what are rainbows, why do people speak different languages, why aren’t there any more dinosaurs. . . Jaime’s answered his questions to the best of his abilities--and the kid’s also proven that his graduates, master’s degree, and his experience as second-in-command at the Lannister Empire is rubbish for common knowledge questions--but it seems Podrick’s curiosity will never be sated. 

Putting a halt to all his questions, he allows Podrick another round at the obstacle course before they head back to Brinny’s. Margaery has instructed earlier what he should do for dinner--fish sticks--and if he may say so himself, Jaime congratulates himself on an almost presentable dinner, considering the fact that he hasn’t used a kitchen nor a frying pan since his accident, maybe before that. Podrick’s not really a tough crowd and provided with a substantial amount of ketchup, he eats them all. 

“Listen, I’ve got a question for you,” says Jaime after Podrick finishes his dinner. 

“Shoot,” he says, eager. 

“Do you know why cell phones do not need glasses?” 

“What?” shrieks Podrick, and Jaime understands his stupor--considering the subjects they were talking about earlier, this must sound kind of strange. But Jaime couldn’t come up with any question regarding the state of the universe in return. Except, maybe, wondering why Brienne’s father’s condition took a turn for the worse now of all times, but that’s not something he can bother Podrick with, since he’s trying to distract him from his grandfather’s hospitalization. 

“The answer is--because they have contacts,” Jaime says. 

_Tough crowd,_ Jaime scowls after five long non-responsive seconds from Podrick. He’s just gotten proof that his might not be as brilliant humor as he’d thought. _At the very least, my kids scoff and give me pity laughter. _

“Okay, that’s it--go shower,” he orders. Podrick jumps off the table, still dumbstruck because of Jaime’s failed attempt at cheering him up, and runs off towards the bathroom, down the hall. 

As Jaime starts collecting the dishes, Margaery returns, and Christoph follows soon afterwards--provided that Sammy showed up at the hospital to replace him. He was unable to drag Brienne back, however, and the chauffeur sees the displeasure in Jaime’s eyes. 

Albeit he’s dying and itching to ask it, Jaime refrains himself from inquiring about Selwyn’s condition. If there had been any changes, he’s certain someone would have called. 

“Are those for me?” he asks instead, pointing at the folders Christoph is holding. 

“Afraid so, sir.” 

“Well, bring it all here.” 

Paperwork keeps Jaime occupied for twenty good minutes, which gives time for Podrick to finish his shower and explain to him that Margaery is now going to stay with him--a more suitable happenstance than having the boy just finding her there in lieu of Jaime when he’d emerge from the shower. Jaime insists on putting the kid to sleep and Margaery, quite surprised herself, allows him the honor. 

“Mr. Lannister, why am I right-handed?” he asks head-on upon him entering into the bedroom. Jaime sighs deeply, kneeling by his bed, relieved to see that his lame-ass joke didn’t convince Podrick that he shouldn’t even address him another look, much less a word. 

“I’ve no idea,” he confesses, an answer that shocks the boy to the core. 

“I thought adults knew everything.” 

“Not in the slightest,” chuckles Jaime. “Unfortunately, we don’t receive a book with an explanation of every mystery in the whole world when we turn eighteen, although I confess it could be useful sometimes.”

“I wish I could read such a book.” 

“Me too, kiddo,” confesses Jaime. Maybe it could have prevented him from making so many mistakes where his children were concerned. “But, you do understand that not knowing things is alright, don’t you?” Jaime asks. “For example, before I met your mother, I barely knew a thing about music and scales and singing.” 

“Really?” he demands, shocked. 

“Really,” Jaime confirms, nodding. 

“Then, do you know why--?” 

“Hey, kiddo. It’s time to sleep now,” Jaime interjects him. “Can you do that for me and for your Mommy?” 

He thought that appealing to Brienne the kid would be more willing to compromise, but alas, he was wrong. Podrick, playing nervously with his fingers at a time, refuses to turn in. 

“Is she at the hospital still?” 

“Yes, she is,” nods Jaime. “But I’m going to bring her back here so she sleeps in her own bed, so you better be asleep by the time we get back, is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t call me sir,” he forbids in an instinctive response--he’s just to get his children to stop fearing him and to stop addressing him by such formal and impersonal titles, he’s not about to let Brienne’s child calling him like that. “I told you, you can call me Jaime.” 

“Okay,” nods the boy, looking as uncertain as the day Jaime asked Podrick’s mother to use his first name as well. 

“Go to sleep,” he orders softly, turning off the light. 

Outside, Christopher awaits with a few more documents for him. As soon as all the paperwork is signed, a matter of a few more minutes yet, they leave for the hospital. 

Just as he expected, Jaime finds Sammy seated at one of the chairs out in the hall, flicking through the pages of a magazine he’s got no interest in reading whatsoever. Upon seeing Jaime, the nurse points at the room with a nod of his head and Jaime smiles back. 

Brienne’s almost asleep in her chair, her head resting on her hand. She’s almost startled by Jaime opening the sliding door, and when she remembers where she is, her eyes fall back on the bed, finding her father still lying there, no changes. 

“Hey,” he greets, soft voice, resting his hand on her shoulder. 

“I see you survived,” Brienne jokes, grabbing his hand and inviting him over. 

“We both did, I think,” nods Jaime, sitting on the armrest. “Although he did ask me not to bring up any of my jokes ever again.” 

Brienne, with a twisted smile, looks up at the ceiling. “Hallelujah! Finally, someone’s got the guts to tell you--your jokes suck.” 

“Come on, you enjoy them,” Jaime complains. Hearing Brienne’s laughter, however brief, and joking around has done wonders with his mood, and is obviously clearing her head too. 

“On occasion.” 

“What about you? Lift home?” suggests Jaime. 

“No.” 

“Don’t you dare to argue,” he scowls over her flat-out refusal. “You haven’t left these four walls all day. You _are_ going home. Sammy can stay.” 

“Christoph took me to lunch--” 

“Good man,” Jaime approves, standing to grab Brienne’s jacket. “Doesn’t change the facts: we’re going home.” 

With barely any strength left to argue, Brienne accepts Jaime’s offering. She stands, takes her jacket, and stops by the bedside and squeezes Selwyn’s hand. They both freeze for some long seconds to see if there’s any change, but since there isn’t, Jaime gently drags Brienne out of the door. Sammy was waiting for them and hugs Brienne goodbye before he steps into the room to occupy the chair she was sitting on until now. 

Back at home, after she checks in on Margaery and Podrick, Brienne doesn’t put much of a fight to eat a small portion of pasta and change into her pajamas, but then she sits on the couch where Jaime’s supposed to sleep. He was just pouring himself a glass of wine from the open bottle he’d seen in the fridge and upon seeing Brienne there on the couch, he pours another glass. Sighing deeply, he joins her. 

“You’re not sleeping here,” he warns in advance. “Take out the artillery if you want, it’ll be useless: I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” 

She doesn’t answer--apparently had no intention of fighting for the couch at all. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers after a while. 

_“You’re_ sorry?” demands Jaime, barely believing his ears, turning towards her--the leather creaking under his weight. “What gives?” 

“This isn’t. . . It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My father. . . Your children. . . You coming to Vienna under such circumstances. . . I wanted more time with you.” She’s just blurting out all the things that pop into her mind now and, unable to elaborate her answer more appropriately, she repeats, “This is all wrong.” 

He denies so by leaning and kissing her on the forehead. “I don’t mind. I won’t deny I wouldn’t have minded enjoying a few more days together with you, yes, but one has to accommodate to life, not the other way around. I’m not mad, or depressed, or whatever you’re assuming I’m feeling. 

“The only thing I want to ask you is that whatever comes our way, whatever struggles we meet in the morning, you let me face those with you. With that, I’ll be a happy man. Think we can manage that, honey?” 

Hardly able to give him a verbal response, she just nods against his forehead. He kisses her smile, tasting the salty savor of tears as well, to seal the vow they’ve just made. She’ll gladly let him stay by her side throughout this whole ordeal. If she’s somehow managing to keep her sanity through it all, it’s thanks to him. 

Finished with their drinks after a few more minutes, Jaime walks Brienne to her room. He lays the glasses on the coffee table, turns off all the unnecessary lights, and makes sure Brienne’s got blankets to spare.

“Sleep with me?” she asks, sitting on the bed. 

A blanket hanging from his arm, Jaime freezes. “Don’t you think it’s too early?” he stutters. She was the most reluctant to have any kind of gestures of affection in front of his kids, and now that they’re staying under Podrick’s same roof. . .?

“Please, Jamie. Stay,” she begs. 

At that, he stops complaining. He drops the façade as well as the blanket and joins Brienne in her bed. Whatever doubts he may have, she did ask him to stay, and right about now he’ll comply with anything she asks of him. And so, he hugs Brienne, her big body making it hard for her to be the little spoon, but she's that much comfortable like that. She falls asleep remarkably fast, all things considered. 

It comes as no surprise to Jaime that sleep should evade him. Soon after Brienne dozes off, he kisses her on the neck and leaves her, not with an aching heart, headed to the living room. He takes the couple folders Christopher left for him and also his computer, packed with mails and whatnot. He settles on the couch, ready to attempt putting out as many fires as he can throughout the night. 

As hours fly past, despair strikes, and with it, his nerves go out the window, his hair gets messier and messier as he keeps running his hand through it. He realizes no amount of work he manages to accomplish could ever put all the impending fires, nor the many black clouds of smoke on the horizon. There’s the only conclusion: things are bad, really, really bad. Not that he didn’t already know so, of course, but missing three days of work at a time didn’t help matters. It pains him to say so, but Tywin was right. He needs to go back to the office and tackle some work. Show up at meetings. At the very least, pretend to have a united front with his Father sharing the weight of the company. 

Someone turns on the bedside lamp he’d turned off when daylight had begun to rise through the windows. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been working all night.” 

Jaime looks up at Brienne, wrapped in a robe to fight off the cold of the early hours of the morning, and then checks the hour. If he relies on Christopher’s punctuality, and he’s never had a reason not to, he’ll be here in a matter of minutes. 

“Then I better not say anything without my lawyer present,” Jaime says, putting down his fountain pen. Brienne comes to meet him on the couch and he leans on her touch, so warm, so comforting--without missing the part where he's supposed to have her back. “Any news?” 

“No,” she replies. Jaime entwines his fingers with hers in an apologetic gesture, but then Brienne takes a good look at him and runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame it. “You got the bad kind of news, I gather?”

“Yes,” he confesses, rubbing his tired eyes. “I wouldn’t mind no news in that regard.” 

“Why won’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t think it’s appropriate, right now.” 

“Will there ever be a right time?” she replies, tilting her head to the side. 

The chuckle that escapes Jaime’s lips is sad and pitiful, confirming her words. How could he be straight about this to her? Not because of who she is, but because it’s got ‘bad timing’ written all over it. Can he do this to her, burden her with this right now? It’s probably the right thing to do, he reckons. But he cannot do this to her today. 

“Would you mind me stepping into the shower before Christopher gets here?” 

“Of course not,” says Brienne. “The house is yours.” 

“Thank you,” appreciates Jaime. 

When he comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later, there’s a whole different scenario at the apartment. Not only has Christopher arrived with more folders for him to sign and is informing Brienne that he also spoke with the nurses this morning to check on Selwyn’s condition, but there’s also Podrick in the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal with sleep in his eyes. On his part, Jaime opens a few cabinets to find a coffee mug. 

“Hey,” Brienne calls him out, resting against the door. “I’m sorry, but there’s no coffee left.” 

The news striking a very sensitive spot at a very early hour, Jaime sighs deeply and returns the coffee mug on the cupboard where he’d found it. He’s been yearning for a cup of coffee all night long, but didn’t dare to prepare one, lest he woke up somebody in the household. 

“Maybe you could have breakfast at the cafeteria across the street,” Brienne suggests, stepping into the kitchen and stopping just a feet away from Jaime. 

“North, right?” asks him, resting against the countertop. 

“Yes,” confirms Brienne. 

“I don’t think you should let him go alone, Mommy,” Podrick interjects, and the two take a few steps back each. “He’s not good at finding things.” 

“Podrick, that was a very rude thing to say, honey,” scowls Brienne, blushing slightly, but by her side, Jaime has just burst out laughing, leaving her even more clueless. “What was that supposed to mean?” 

“A private joke,” Jaime replies, winking at her. 

He opens the fridge and takes a carton of milk. Judging its weight, however, he can tell there’s not much left, and that it’s the last carton, also, so he returns it to its place, in case Podrick wants another bowl of cereals or Brienne would like to drink milk with her breakfast. Alas, he sees she’s got no intention of having breakfast, for she’s got a change of clothes hanging from her arm already. 

When she disappears, first to make her room, then Podrick’s, Jaime gets to action: gets a frying pan, eggs, sugar, flour, and the remaining milk out of the fridge. Interesting in his activities, Podrick jumps off the chair and approaches Jaime. 

“Want to give me a hand?” suggests Jaime. “I’m going to need a sous-chef.” 

“What’s that?” he asks, making Jaime sigh--here they go again with the questions. 

“It’s the second-in-command in a professional kitchen,” he explains, checking behind the door for aprons, and sure enough, he finds two of them, so he helps Pod tying one around his waist. “The person who most helps the chef. And today, I’m naming you sous-chef.” 

“What can I do?” he asks. 

“Sir--” Christopher interjects from the entrance, a bit worried, but Jaime just waves him away without a word. He’ll manage, especially having Podrick to help. Instead, he instructs Christoph to shut the doors, so Brienne won’t realize what experiments they’re doing in the kitchen as she walks by on her way to the bathroom for her shower. 

Whether she realizes their trangsressions or not, she doesn’t stop them. When she does step into the kitchen, about half an hour later, Jaime and Podrick are just delivering a dozen almost-presentable pancakes for breakfast, and Pod couldn’t look happier to have helped in the kitchen for a change. 

“Something smells delicious,” Brienne approves, looking at the plate--and then at Podrick and Jaime--with pride in her eyes and voice. 

“Try them!” begs Pod. 

At his command, Brienne takes a seat at the table, Jaime and Podrick joining her right after the former brings forks, knives, napkins, and glasses of orange juice. But before Brienne digs in, remorse strikes her. 

“Christoph, won’t you join us?” she asks. The poor man was standing in the living room without knowing what to do or say. 

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve already had breakfast.” 

“More pancakes for us, then!” is Podrick’s answer, taking the first one. Brienne cannot resist her son’s enthusiasm and albeit she feels bad for Christoph, and also for not being on her way to the hospital right now, she’s the first to dig in. 

“These are really good,” she approves between bites. 

“Right?” nods Jaime, winking at her from across the table. “And that was with one hand only, imagine what I could do for you with two.” 

Albeit they were talking about pancakes just a minute ago, Brienne’s mind, out of exhaustion, goes to places without her consent or knowledge, and she almost chokes on a bite of pancake, going scarlet red. In front of her, Jaime smirks--knowing exactly what she thought of. And willing to provide that release and fulfill all of her dreams and desires if only she asked for it.

“Hey! I helped!” complains Podrick. 

“Yes, of course, indeed, you did. And that’s why you can claim the last one,” confirms Jaime, delivering the last pancake on Podrick’s plate. 

“Well, thank Gods I ate already, or else this could have turned into a bloodbath,” chuckles Margaery as she shows up at the kitchen entrance. Christoph must have let her in without any of them realizing she’d knocked or rang the bell. “Hope you enjoyed breakfast.” 

“We’ll make more tomorrow!” promises Pod. 

“It’s a deal,” accepts Margaery, sitting as well. “Listen, what do you want to do today?” 

“We could play that dancing game you’ve got,” suggests Pod. 

“Okay, you’re on. But I also thought we could go to the aquarium, what do you think? Want to feed an acherfish again?” she says. 

“It’s thursday!” replies Pod. “Today it’s sharks and piranhas feeding day!” 

“Oh, Gods, what have I done?” Margaery asks to herself, putting on a dramatic shiver for Podrick to get a good laugh. She cannot turn back now, so she just addresses the other two adults present. “Are you two--?” 

“Leaving,” Brienne finishes the sentence, jumping off her chair. Jaime follows her suit, grabbing her purse while Brienne takes a second to kiss Podrick goodbye, and then hugging Margaery to thank her coming over today as well. 

Five minutes later, they’re at the back of the car, headed to the hospital. Jaime, putting aside the pile of folders Christopher has brought for him today, just lets Brienne curl against him, taking her endless legs over his lap, one arm around his waist. Despite everything that’s happening, she seems to be in quite a good mood, and he deludes himself in thinking that it is because of him. 

Knowing this is going to be the first and only time throughout the day where they’ll enjoy a little bit of privacy, Jaime rests his head against Brienne’s. He doesn’t know how to lay it all gently, so he just blurts it all out. 

“Listen. Would you mind allowing Christopher doing some shopping for your place? I noticed you’re running a bit low on supplies. I’m not trying to fix your life,” he rushes to explain, as he sees confusion mixed with anger in Brienne’s eyes, “just trying to make your life easier in such a moment of strife. It’s exactly my duty taking your mind off such a trivial thing as shopping.” 

Brienne ponders for exactly the duration of a red light. “Okay,” she accepts. 

Letting her rest against his shoulder again, Jaime takes a notepad and a pen. “Write down a list for him.” 

“Could you also instruct him not to go overboard?” begs Brienne softly, clicking the retractable pen open.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demands Jaime, but at that moment Christopher stops in front of the hospital, and they drop the argument, momentarily. Right now, Brienne’s biggest concern is running up to her father’s room without waiting for the elevators, as if to make up for the time she hasn’t stayed at her father’s bedside. 

Jaime’s heart breaks when he sees the despair and disappointment in Brienne’s face upon Selwyn not waking up just yet. Even Sammy looks a little bit forlorn, albeit he greets them both as formally and warmly as any other day. He hugs Brienne for a long minute on his way out, saying some things into her ear that Jaime’s unable to hear. 

Before taking her usual seat by her father’s bedside and not leave the room for hours on end, Brienne checks in with the nurses--the only news they have is that a doctor will come by later in the morning and they’ll see if they need to run any tests on Selwyn. Knowing that, Jaime takes her back to the room, just so she’s got somewhere to sit. 

A strange feeling of déjàvu falls upon them, for today is only a repeat of the previous morning. Brienne doesn’t leave the chair, stays hours on end holding onto her father’s hand, and singing some song under her breath. Jaime alternates between the spare chair in the room with one of the plastic chairs out in the hall, along with strolls up and down the corridor to get water or tea from the vending machine--although he’s never believed in drinking tea from a plastic cup. With a little bit of luck, Christopher shows up every hour or so with drinks from whatever place he buys that heavenly coffee and tea, and to bring Jaime and Brienne up to date: he’s done all the shopping Brienne wrote down, Margaery is taking good care of Podrick and the kid, for the moment, hasn’t asked to come to the hospital. 

The one thing that changes from yesterday morning is the amount of phone calls and emails Jaime keeps getting. His phone is threatening to burst at any moment and every time Jaime sees another call from work, he must fight the urgency to throw the device against the wall. His Father has started summoning him, now. 

“Sir,” Christopher calls him out at some point, showing him his own cell phone. He’s received calls from Tywin as well, and the poor chauffeur is in no condition of not answering. “He is asking--” 

“For me to go to the office, yes,” interjects Jaime in a very deep sigh, kicking the floor. He has tried texting his Father, explaining that there’s a medical emergency and he cannot go to work right now, but Tywin’s persisted. 

“I took the liberty of taking one of your suits to the laundry this morning, sir,” Christopher informs, shocking Jaime to the core. He looks over to the room, which Brienne hasn’t left in more than an hour, now. How is he supposed to leave her here all alone? “I’ve got it in the car downstairs.” 

“Alright,” scowls Jaime in the end, standing and buttoning his jacket. “Call him back. I’ll give him one hour.” 

Christoph nods and leaves again to go and make the phone call. Jaime, instead, takes a very deep breath and heads back to Selwyn’s room. What he wouldn’t give for the man to wake up right here and now and to have the reassurance that he’s out of danger before leaving Brienne and attending whatever his father has in mind. Or, better still, he’d give all of his resources if he could just skip the meeting with his Father. 

Leaning against the sliding door, no changes occur in the next few minutes. That sort of miracles never happen, he sighs, stepping into the room, by Brienne’s side. 

  
_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens _  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings _  


He reaches his hand to caress her arm, and she grabs his wrist in an automatic movement. She takes a few more seconds to look up at him and force herself to smile. . . Until she gets a good look at his face, that is. 

“What’s happened?” she demands. 

His heart in a fist, Jaime knows he can’t keep it from her. And also knows he cannot avoid his father forever, not even a few more hours. Being completely honest, he knew this was going to happen sooner rather than later. 

“Work,” he sighs in the end, sitting on the armrest. “It’s finally caught up with me.” 

“You need to go to the office.” Not even a question, just the statement of a fact. 

“I could say no,” Jaime insists. 

“No, you couldn’t,” says Brienne softly, taking his hand against her cheek. “Go fix whatever they need.” 

“Two hours, tops,” he promises, leaning to kiss her on the lips. “I’ll see you later.” 

Outside, Christopher awaits holding a suit in a laundry plastic bag. Jaime sighs deeply, shaking his head, hating that outfit he really packed himself. He’d hoped he’d never be forced to wear it while he was in Vienna with Brienne--for Brienne. But alas, few people can refuse a direct order from Tywin, and he’s not amongst those fortunate. 

Christoph leads to the nearest bathroom, handing him as well a paper bag for the clothes he’s wearing right now. Within ten minutes, Jaime feels trapped and uncomfortable in a three-piece navy suit, struggling with the finishing touches of a St. Andrew knot, the only tie knot his Father would approve of. Staring at the mirror, Jaime hates himself at that moment, his reflection gives him back a discontent and frowned eyebrow. He should not be doing this. There are other priorities at hand right now. 

And still, he buttons the jacket, realizing that he’s missing one important part of the suit--his prosthetic. He rolls his eyes only imagining what his Father will have to say about it, and leaves the bathroom before he thinks better of this whole thing. 

Fifteen minutes later, Christoph stops at the reserved spot in front of Lannister Co. and hurries to open the door for him. Jaime steps outside and takes one brief look at his last name written in capital letters over the façade, making him shiver. No better way to land back in the land of a struggling Empire, he sighs, taking the suitcase Christopher hands him--albeit Jaime’s got no idea what papers are inside, and he didn’t even bother to check on the drive-in. 

All men and women he walks by stop in deference, some even bowing their heads at him. It also adds up to his position and armor, helping him remember what his status and name means, what his role in the company, in this building, in this Empire, constitutes. 

“Mr. Lannister,” everyone greets him formally. 

An elevator clears as soon as he steps in, and so he enjoys a quiet yet solitary trip to the top floor. Léonie jumps off her chair upon his arrival and hurries in front of him to open the door to Tywin’s study and announce him. 

“Send him in,” Tywin says--not that Jaime was going to wait even if he’d refused. He enters without slowing down his pace, and Léonie hurries out, shutting the door behind her without even taking the time to offer any refreshments. 

Only Jaime’s footsteps and Tywin’s scribbling something on a paper can be heard as Jaime crosses the study, throws his suitcase over a chair, and stops just a few inches from the desk. Of course, his Father still puts up the predictable show of pretending to be writing something so important that he cannot postpone it or look up at Jaime for a good thirty seconds. 

At long last, he puts away his fountain pen, but the first look he addresses goes straight to Jaime’s right arm, to the missing prosthetic at the end of the sleeve. Tywin’s always been quite clear how much he hated seeing him without the prosthetic, especially at the company, and Jaime was smart enough to keep that hand inside his pocket on his way through the hall. 

“I see you still remember where our offices are,” Tywin remarks. “I was beginning to wonder.” 

“Well, you’ve summoned me, and here I am,” says Jaime. “What can I do for you?” 

“What can you do for your company, you meant to ask.” 

“Aren’t those two questions one and the same?” 

“You seem to have forgotten the conundrum we’re facing here, Jaime,” scowls Tywin. “We have only but a small window to avoid the merger with that treacherous, little Lannister girl--and you running off the Gods know where isn’t helping! The company needs your guidance and your command!” 

“Right now--” 

“I _demand_ your assistance, Jaime! Start showing up on meetings again, pick up your goddamn phone, read and answer your emails,” he orders, slamming his finger on the table at every task he’s supposed to be performing already. “I made you COO and your name on top of the building was not the only reason! You’re a Lannister, for the Gods’ sake, that means you’ve got responsibilities, heavy responsibilities, towards this company!” 

“Father,” begs Jaime, raising one hand to make him stop, at least to catch his breath, “you know I’ve got the deepest respect to our company and to our family. For years, I’ve dedicated my every waking moment to Lannisters Inc. to ensure its prosperity.” 

“Oh, go ahead, son, tell me how much you’ve suffered all these years,” Tywin scoffs. 

“I’ve given up _everything_ for this company.”

_“And what?”_ demands Tywin, standing to his feet. “You’re looking for compensation, perhaps? A medal of honor?” 

“Of course not. I just think you can spare me for a few days.” 

“The world doesn’t stop whenever you want to, son! That’s what running a business means--you need to dedicate your whole life to it. You do not sleep, you do not eat, if necessary!” 

Instead of answering back immediately, Jaime lowers his hand and takes a breath. Two minutes into the conversation and they’re fighting and yelling already. If this is the only reason why he came back, he’ll go out of that door right now. 

“Father, I’m appealing to your conscience. I’m asking you to understand my position for just a second. My heart lies somewhere else right now. They need me too, maybe more than the company needs me. I can’t possibly focus on staff meetings and stock markets and--” 

“You’ve completely forgotten your place, son,” Tywin scoffs. “You’ve got your priorities blurred out. If you were sensible at all, you wouldn’t have called off your engagement to Baroness Schraeder! Your heart doesn’t belong to a simple, ignorant commoner--” 

“Choose your next words carefully, Father,” Jaime interjects coldly, feeling a swelling rage within himself, strong enough to kick whoever stands in front of him. He can deal and will deal with any name-calling, abuse and what not his Father chooses to torture him with today, but Brienne will not be a target of his nasty comments, he will not have it--not when she’s not here to defend herself against Tywin. Of course, that’s not a meeting Jaime sees happening in the foreseeable future. Or ever. “This is a woman I care deeply about.” 

“Oh, well, if you care about her, then it’s all right,” scoffs Tywing, and Jaime knows there’s a worse punchline coming in. “What about _this company,_ son? If you cared about your company half as much as you should, you’d forget about that stupid woman and patch things up with Baroness Schraeder this minute! Don’t you realize that she could help our company so much?” 

“Her money wouldn’t have solved a thing, father.” 

“It could have helped! It still can--grab that,” Tywin instructs, pointing at the phone by the corner of the desk. Jaime pushes it away. 

“We broke off our engagement for good, Father, so don’t go down that line. That bridge is long gone. Burnt and turned to ashes,” scowls Jaime. “Also, you will not dictate whom I marry, if I should marry again. In this day and age, can’t I be free to choose whomever I want? Can’t I marry for love?” 

“You already did,” Tywin waves the idea away with his hand. “You did marry for love. You have seven children because of that love. We only get one good romance story in our lives, and you’ve already had yours, son.” 

“I refuse to believe--” 

“Your mother was the love of my life, but when I lost her, I realized that making this company grow and bloom just like my Father did was the only thing I could have forever, the only thing I would pass onto my own sons.” 

“Really? Because I haven’t seen Tyrion anywhere near Lannister Co. in decades.” 

“Your brother forfeited all rights to his heritage towards this company when he decided to go into advertising and show business and you know it,” scowls Tywin, making Jaime a little bit proud of himself. Tyrion’s a taboo subject anywhere within Lannister premises, for it always unnerves their Father. Per the general norm, Christmas dinners tend to be awful--those years where Tywin shows up, of course. 

“Now, listen to me,” orders Tywin. “This company is all you’ve got, son.” 

“I beg to differ--” Jaime interjects, but his father keeps going as if he’d said nothing. 

“If you want to ensure a future for those kids of yours just as much as I did for you and your forsaken brother, this is what you need to focus on. It’s high time to put the company back at top of your list. We’ve suffered gigantic economic losses, we’ve lost very important clients, and we own half the political power we once had. We’re this close to hitting rock bottom and I simply will not allow that to happen. The company, our name, is all that matters--all that lives on. 

“The future of this family will be decided in these next few months. We could establish a dynasty that could last a thousand years, or we could collapse into nothing, if we’re forced into a merger with the Targaryens. I need you to become the man you were always meant to be. Not next year, not tomorrow--_now,_ Jaime! This company needs you now more than ever!” 

Without any more arguments, exhausted only five minutes after seeing his father for the first time in weeks, Jaime drops on the chair in front of his desk. Tywin looks pretty satisfied with himself as he resumes his seat as well, checking his tie. 

“Now, if you--” 

“You say you care so much about my kids,” interjects Jaime, shocking his father. “My children, your grandchildren, in case you’ve forgotten, the ones I’m supposed to ensure the future of the company for? Well, did you know that Rickon draws and paints beautifully? That Gendry’s masterful at any kind of handcrafts? That Arya’s got this wonderful and charming obsession over adventure books, over exploring? That Sansa’s a wonderful horseback riding? Or that--?” 

“THAT IS _ENOUGH_, JAIME!” Tywin yells, jumping to his feet and slamming a few folders on the desk for dramatic purposes.

_That blessed woman,_ Jaime sighs, fighting against the smile threatening to show on his lips, which would only anger his Father more. _Where did she come from? She’s extraordinary. She made me open my eyes to the truth that was right in front of my eyes, yet I was unable to see for so long, until she came around. What could I possibly do without her now? _

“Are you going to say something clever? Go on, say something clever.” Tywin gives him a full two minutes in case Jaime does want to add something, but he remains silent, which was the only response Tywin would have accepted. “Good. Now, we’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes with the Rascher-Rueff Group. Check that out.” 

With his fountain pen, he points at a small box by the coffee table, and Jaime stands, a bit surprised. It cannot possibly be any files for him to proofread before the meeting. . . 

Jaime scowls upon opening the box, because of his own stupidity. He should have known. It was the right measurement, the right weight. And given all the work Tywin had planned for him today, of course, he went out of his way to provide him with it. 

“You can’t be serious, Father?” he scoffs, taking the prosthetic from the box. 

“You will be decently dressed at that meeting,” says Tywin, standing from his seat as if to end the argument. 

“No one will care less about--” 

“The stock market drops when I catch a cold!” he yells. “What do you think happens when you show up with only one hand?”

“Really, Father, I--” 

_“You’re maimed!”_ Tywin reminds him without signs of pity or mercy. “As COO, if you’re maimed, so is the company--it’s a sign of weakness, for Pete’s sake!” 

“I think you overestimate what my lack of hand--” 

“And you underestimate what a proper look and first impressions can do, son! Have I taught you nothing?” he scowls, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Keep on fighting will lead to nothing except an early headache, perhaps, and so Jaime, just like so many other times before when it comes to his Father and leading the company, keeps his mouth shut. They both appreciate it, albeit those words would never part Tywin’s lips, not even if Jaime had defused a nuclear bomb at the garage of the company. 

Tywin throws over his desk a couple of folders. Jaime grabs them before they fall off the edge of the desk and upon checking the first papers, he sees that they must be related to the meeting with the Rascher-Rueff Group. Back to business, then, Jaime sighs, flicking through the pages of the folders. 

“I want you in that meeting in thirty minutes. You and that bloody hand,” orders Tywin. 

That was such a hard remark that Jaime drops dead on the chair behind him, taking the folders with him, barely able to utter a word. His Father doesn’t seem to notice, instead he just picks up his fountain pen to scribble down some notes on a paper, and after a minute, Jaime manages to swallow the knot in his throat and picks up the documents. His relationship with his Father has always unfolded like this, why is today so difficult to accept it? 

_Because now you know different,_ a certain voice tells him--and Jaime does not know if it’s Brienne herself or his own conscience. Be as it may, it’s true as day. He now knows what a real father should look and act like, and it’s not the example Tywyn set off for him. 

A few minutes later, Tywin stands to leave. But he hesitates for a second too long and Jaime looks up at him. 

“Jaime, I know it’s difficult. Balancing work life and your life as a father, hell, even your life as a man,” he says softly, slowly. “I did the best I could and in retrospection, I realize that maybe, it wasn’t enough. But you have to understand, son. Being here is loving your children. Providing for them. Ensuring a bright future for them. And that’s all they need, in the end.” 

After that unusually heartfelt speech, Tywin abandons the study without allowing Jaime to put in a single word. All alone in the room, feeling worse and more alienated than ever before, Jaime drops his head, unable to focus on work anymore. 

“Yeah,” he says to no one, slamming shut the folders on his lap. “I used to think that too, Father.” 

Without nothing else to do at the moment, he reaches out for that damned wooden box. He takes out the prosthetic and balances its weight. Well, at the very least, Tywin--or whoever he assigned this task to--did his homework, for it seems to be the right weight and shape. He then rolls up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt and affixes the prosthetic to his arm. As usual, whenever he’s forced to try a new prosthetic, it hurts, and he doesn’t care about swallowing a grunt of pain this time. It’ll feel uncomfortable for a few days before it stretches a bit to fit in perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it !! 
> 
> I enjoyed writing Podrick and Jaime so much (do not fret, there is more between the two coming soon). Also, Jaime and Tywin face-down included some lines extracted directly from Game of Thrones, as well ! 
> 
> Next chapter (albeit I do not know well will be finished): Jaime reflects on his mistakes and realizes what's really important. . . Or _some people_ help him come to that conclusion !


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to face Brienne again after meeting with his father, Jaime stays for too many hours at the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience !! Here's chapter 28 :D

`We expect an answer by no later than tomorrow at 9 am. `

He hits send and, taking a deep breath of air, he flicks through the papers at his right. One more mail, dozens more to take care of. He better not stop now or else he won’t be able to return to work until tomorrow morning, he sighs. 

After the meeting with the Rascher-Rueff group, Tywin dragged him to a briefing meeting with the Heads of Department, his particular way of punishing him for the days he didn’t care to answer any calls or mails and for the bad news he'd missed out on. By some miracle, Jaime pulled through as best as he could, without storming off or snapping at his father or any other head of Department. 

Once the meeting was over, Jaime refused to address his father a single word, not even to assess the conclusions extracted from the meeting. Very much used to such treatment from Jaime, Tywin retreated to his office, and Jaime stayed back in the conference room to get some work done, physically and mentally unable to return to the hospital, or to Brienne. He was simply not in the right mind to go back to her side, to poison that part of his life with his work life and Tywin, to mess up everything. 

That’s where he’s spent all the afternoon, even for lunch and dinner--Christoph was kind enough to get him something to eat. With his computer and piles of documents and folders all over the table, Jaime does not need any further distractions, he’s been buried under tones of work ever since. Tywin was right, he’s got so much to catch up on, and missing three whole days wasn’t as good an idea as it seemed at the time. 

There’s another reason why he just can’t stop working. If he stops even for a second to analyze what he’s doing, to reflect his choices in the past few hours, he’d throw everything out of the window and he wouldn’t return. He regrets coming here so much already. All alone in a conference room set out for sixteen people, only a couple of cold lamps to see by, he now knows differently. He now knows right from wrong. 

Every other minute, Brienne pops up in his mind, willingly or not. Her laughter, her joyfulness, her wit, her songs--everything about her, really. He is in awe. He’s madly in love with her. And he knows he should be with her at the hospital. 

_Gods, she’s so young, _ he keeps telling himself, running a hand through his hair. Now that he’s had time to sit down and think it through, it’s difficult to come to terms with it all. He knew how young Brienne was from her resumé, and still, despite her inexperience, she got along with his children remarkably fast--it all makes sense now. But she’s still so young, she must have had Podrick on her first year of college, at the most. She’s the same age now that Elsa was when they had Robb, and it makes Jaime feel very, very old, truth be told. And uneasy, too. Like he’s still missing such a big part of her life, but they do not have the luxury to sit down to have a real talk and come to terms with it all. 

Beyond Podrick, Brienne’s one of his biggest worries right now. He’s conflicted, to say the very least. Up until a few weeks ago, his top concern was the company. By prioritizing Lannister Co., he thought he was caring and providing for his children. Now, thanks solely to Brienne, he knows better: his kids needed so much more from him. And still, Jaime finds he does not know how to act on it. How is he supposed to balance it all? He knows he needs--wants--to spend quality time with his children. But the company also demands his attention, that's for certain. 

_How am I supposed to do better? Is there a way for me to go? _

Dear Gods, you’re such a Jean Valjean, a voice tells him, exhaustion catching up on him fast. That line was literally extracted from _Les Mis_\--how on Earth did it come to mind? He cannot truly compare his situation with a man who spent nineteen years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread and has just now learned how unjust the world can be and is deciding to break his parole just to have a decent chance at living his own life. . . Then again, Jean Valjean was a fictional character, and he’s a real human being, with real concerns, decisions to make. A company to run, children to take care of, a relationship that was just beginning put to the test so many times in as many months, Brienne’s father and son. . . The list just never stops. 

As if on cue, his cellphone rings. Checking the device, Jaime smiles and then sighs in regret upon seeing a picture of Robb’s profile on the caller ID. He does not need to check the call log to remember he’s purposefully missed at least a dozen calls from his children and Tyrion this afternoon. Same way as he couldn’t find it in himself to go back to the hospital to face Brienne, he just couldn’t face his children, either. He knows they would chastise him for not being with her every minute of the day--that’s what he promised he’d do, after all, staying by her side and taking care of her. He regrets his actions badly enough to have his children calling him out and pissing him off like that. There’re no words in the dictionary for him to try and explain why he left Brienne and went to the office for a couple of hours. Five hours now, to be precise. 

He stares at his phone while it rings on and on. After a minute, the phone call ends, Robb’s picture disappears, and the device’s screen turns to black. Jaime drops it again on the table and returns to his computer, trying to remember what he was doing before his reveries dragged him away from work.

Taking a very deep breath, he returns to the email he was writing. . . But finds himself unable to type any other sentence. He takes the cellphone again, checking the many messages the kids have sent him throughout the afternoon. He tried answering a few during the most tedious parts of the meeting she’s sat through, but didn’t quite manage to answer the almost ninety messages he got form his kids and his brother. 

Giving all those texts a quick glance over, Jaime now realizes they’ve sent him a video file, around midday. The frozen image shows the seven kids in a semicircle, Sansa with the guitar Jaime got them, clearly ready to sing a song, and a warm smile comes easily to Jaime’s lips as he presses play right away. Remorse almost gets the better of him when the kids wave hello at Brienne first and foremost, dedicating her the song they’re about to sing. 

‘The hills are alive’ raises softly in the conference room and Jaime takes a look around, feeling that such a beautiful choir has no place inside this building. His work life and his personal life keep crashing time and time again and it seems he’s powerless to stop the upcoming and irretrievable explosion. 

_Gods, what the hell happened?_ he wonders as the sweet voices of his children raise in the conference room. He remembers when they brought Robb, Sansa, Rickon, and Brandon home from the hospital--Arya, of course, was up to her shenanigans from very early on, and on her case, they didn’t make it to the hospital in time for the delivery and it happened at home. They were so happy, so full of life, so thirsty for adventures. It wasn’t all ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir’. _Where did I go wrong? _

The singing does fill his heart and makes Jaime feel a little bit better after a whole afternoon working side by side with his Father. The children, too, look so joyful, sending their best to Brienne, hoping Selwyn wakes up and recovers soon. They finish the video hoping they’ll see her very soon as well, barely addressing their own father a word, but he doesn’t care. He replays the video and this time, not giving a rat’s ass if there’re any employees around still, he joins in the song under his breath. They chose, unknowingly, the one song he once sang with Brienne alone, and the one song he’d feel comfortable with singing again in public. 

He wishes he could join them live, sing together as a family, once more, like those lines they sang together when he returned from Vienna with Tyrion and the Baroness. Brienne brought music back into their home, but it seems he’s wasting every good opportunity she’s given him--them. For the first time in so long, they’ve had a chance to reconnect, _he_ has a chance to get to know his children. . . 

The video finishes again with his kids’ happy expressions, sending their love and regards, and waving at the camera. Jaime fights the urge to play it a third time on a row, but at the very least, he’s gotten something out of the video. The kids will be alright, he sighs, feeling a little bit better and lighter now. 

Looking back on all the papers and files, he decides right then and there that it is time to throw responsibilities and Tywin out of the window. He shuts down his computer, not without saving all the spreadsheets he’d been working on, and stands so he can start collecting all the scattered papers. Christopher, with his usual impeccable timing, shows up then. Or maybe Jaime had simply not realized the chauffeur had been waiting for him at a nearby room and has returned when he saw Jaime clearly wanted to get out of there. 

“Anything else, sir?” 

“If you can send these to Vienna by urgent mail,” begs Jaime, handing him a folder with half a dozen documents. “That’ll be all, thank you.” 

“Where to?” 

“Hotel,” Jaime says against his better judgment. 

If Christopher is surprised or displeased with his idea at all, he’s a good lad and doesn’t show it at all. He just helps Jaime with all his papers and takes his suitcase to the car, and then he’s kind enough to give Jaime a quiet ride to the hotel--no music, no chit chat. 

Unfortunately, the workers at the reception hall do not extend him the same courtesy as his most reliable driver. As soon as he walks through the glass doors, a night clerk comes to meet him, bowing at the waist. Jaime sighs and orders himself to behave; the man’s only doing his job and is in no way responsible for his tiredness and personal struggles. 

“Any messages for me?” Jaime asks. 

“Yes, there are, sir,” the clerk informs, rubbing his gloved hands nervously. “Mr. Tyrion Lannister said that he’d meet you upstairs. And. . . Your children. . . They’ve been settled in your suite, sir. I hope that proves to be--”

“Hold on. My children? What the hell are you talking about?” shrieks Jaime. He looks over his shoulder to Christopher, but he seems to be completely in the dark, too. 

His response frightens the clerk so much that he actually has trouble finding words. “Mr. Tyrion Lannister and your children got here around three in the afternoon, sir. They said they had cleared the travel plans with you beforehand and asked for the keys to your suite.” 

Again, Christopher shakes his head. He had nothing to do with it. Jaime checks his watch, but he already knows that he’s messed up so badly. His children have been in Vienna for hours now without him knowing. And the reason that he was unreachable wasn’t that he had no cell phone reception at the hospital, where he was supposed to stay at, with Brienne. No, he just avoided all of those phone calls and text messages all afternoon as he thought the only priority was work and Lannister Co. 

“Dammit,” he scowls, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll deal with it right now. I hope they haven’t been a nuisance to any of the staff members?” 

“Oh, not at all, sir,” promises the clerk. Of course, that was the only response he could have given Jaime. He knows that Arya must have been a handful for Tyrion and workers alike. There’s no wonder Tyrion surrendered and brought them all here, after all. 

Without a word, Jaime heads over to the elevators, Christopher following silently behind. On the ride upward, he takes off his tie and unbuttons his shirt, knowing he might have to face a long discussion with his children in there--which was, as bad as it sounds, the last thing he wanted to do before turning in for the night. 

In front of his suit’s door, Christopher takes care of Jaime’s suitcase, almost begging him if there’s anything else he can do for him. Jaime forces a smile on his face before dismissing the driver. 

“I’m sure I’ll be able to fend for myself tonight. Call it a day, Christopher,” he says.

Jaime stands there until the driver finds his way back to the elevator and its doors close, leaving him all alone in the hallway. He takes two seconds, briefly considering the possibility of just booking another room for the night and delaying the upcoming conversation till morning, but in the end, he accesses the room using the magnetic card. 

To his biggest surprise, it’s quiet inside. He’d really feared a welcome in the form of the usual fuss and turmoil he’d expect back home, but for a minute there, he can almost pretend the clerk was only playing an elaborate joke on him and he’s all alone in the suite. 

That is, until he sees Robb, Jon, and Sansa sleeping on the couches. Coming to Vienna wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, he observes: they’ve got their sleeping gowns on. 

At that moment, Jaime sees movement from the balcony. Tyrion had been keeping an eye on the kids from the terrace, lying as comfortable as it gets on one of the hammocks, with an empty can of beer at his feet. As not to wake up his children, Jaime goes out to the terrace as well, startling poor Tyrion to death. 

“What in the world is going on?” demands Jaime in a whisper. “What are you all doing here?” 

“And hello to you too, my dear brother,” says Tyrion, sitting down again. “Do you know that your seven children can be a bit of a handful sometimes?” 

“That’s no excuse for taking them across the country without prior warning!” 

“I tried contacting you. Check your damned phone once in a while.” 

“And me not answering your calls and texts was a good enough reason to just do whatever you wanted?” demands Jaime, hands inside his pockets, taking a few steps away from the glass doors as a precaution not to wake up the kids. 

“Did I mention _your_ seven children?” 

“Tyrion, I came here to Vienna to take care of Brienne and her father and son,” says Jaime, without realizing he’s just spilled the beans about Podrick without really meaning to. “I left the children with you thinking they’d be safe and sound and that I wouldn’t have to worry about them while I was here.” 

“You can keep on doing all of that with them here. Seems to me you’re doing a marvelous job supporting Brienne every step of the way.” 

“Don’t play games with me,” begs Jaime, shaking his head. He walks up to the veranda, stepping outside the beam of light from the living room, and realizes the wind is stronger and colder than he’d anticipated up here. “The thing is, with _everything_ else going on, I just could not include them all in the equation, as well. You know I had to prioritize Brienne’s needs. They seemed to understand that.” 

“And I did, too,” nods Tyrion, putting his feet down on the ground floor, “the first couple of days. Did I mention by any chance that I was taking care of _seven_ children?” 

Jaime chuckles, deep down knowing that Tyrion has every right to be pissed off and tired of fulfilling a role he should have been taken care of. He can understand Tyrion not being able to put up with those marvelous and wonderful children, especially during summer hols, especially taking into account Arya. Until not too long ago, he sinned in that regard, as well. 

“Father?” asks Sansa, pulling away the curtains. Jon and Robb, sleep in their eyes, are just behind her. Jaime pushes himself off the veranda, feeling so bad that he raised his voice throughout his conversation with Tyrion. 

“Hey, pumpkin, sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” 

“Where were you?” asks Robb. 

“The only thing that matters right now is that I’m here,” says Jaime, trying to seize the tiredness to get out of the interrogation and the reproaches. “And you’re in Vienna for the first time, so tomorrow morning we can maybe organize a tour for you--”

“You’re avoiding the question,” interjects Jon, a bit more alert now. 

“How’s Brienne’s father?” asks Sansa, making Jaime groan at her picking up her tactics from no-one than Tyrion himself. Her question filled with suspicion and venom, she already knows her father cannot answer her, because he’s not set foot into the hospital in hours. 

“He hasn’t woken up, as far as I know,” sighs Jaime--that much is true, Brienne would have called if Selwyn had regained consciousness, and that’s a phone call Jaime wouldn’t have missed, “but, yeah, okay, I wasn’t with her all day long, today. I had to come into the office for a couple of hours.” 

“Father, you didn’t!” complain Robb and Jon. 

“You should never have left her alone!” adds Sansa. 

“I know, kids,” sighs Jaime, exchanging one look with Tyrion, asking for a little bit of help. He just shrugs and returns inside, leaving him all alone to weather the storm. He probably deserves it. “It was a mistake. But it was necessary.” 

“Go to the hospital right this minute!” Sansa commands. 

“It’s too late to go anywhere,” replies Jaime, waving his hand to remind them all they need to keep their voices low. Scared, they look over their shoulders, but none of their siblings show up to greet their father. “And before you ask, Miss Tarth’s hanging in there, I think. She’s stronger than she looks.” 

The sentence that once upon a time made him scoff and make fun of Brienne is met with respectful silence and agreement now by his children, because it was, after all, nothing but the truth. How did that woman sent by the Gods manage to educate his kids better than he ever did? He’ll never know the answer and, anyhow, it’s way too late to try to answer the riddle by himself. 

He steps forward to hug and kiss his children and they hug him back. Greetings, saying that they’d missed each other, saying goodbye for the night--whatever reason, they do not let go as Jaime drags them all back inside, pointing at the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Since Brandon and Rickon settled in Jaime’s room, there’s still one spare room they can crash in for the night. They’ll see what happens tomorrow. 

“How’re your siblings?” he asks, staring at Rickon, Brandon, and Gendry sharing a room. 

“We’re all fine, Father. We just missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you, as well,” confesses Jaime. “And you _will_ be fine, I'm sure, if you go to bed now and get some hours of sleep. Come on.” 

With a few more goodnight kisses, they bid farewell for good, this time. Sansa goes sleep with Arya, Jon and Robb have a room of their own. 

Jaime’s in two minds about the whole situation, of course. He’s beyond exultant that the kids came to Vienna--whether he was the reason or not--and so proud that they showed so much concern towards Miss Tarth to annoy Tyrion into taking them. But, as he was trying to explain Tyrion just a few minutes ago, the kids shouldn’t be here. They left them behind in the first place so they wouldn’t get in the way, so they could focus on the people who mattered most at the moment. Not that his children aren’t a priority, but right now, Brienne, Selwyn, and Podrick need him most than anyone else. 

“Thank you for bringing them here,” he tells Tyrion after, nonetheless. 

“It was my pleasure, really,” says his brother. “But seeing as you’re here now, I’m going to let you take your rightful place as their father and leave you in charge. I took the liberty of booking the suite next to this one--”

“On my bill, of course.” 

“Why, of course,” nods Tyrion without the slightest remorse. "How else was I supposed to afford the Palais Coburg Residenz? And right now, I’m going to take full advantage of it. I bid you adieu, then. See you in the morning.” 

“Goodnight. And thank you,” says Jaime again, walking his brother to the door. 

Alone at the penthouse, considering all minors in the suite are asleep now, Jaime doesn’t even know what to do. He takes off his jacket, carefully folding it over a chair, and goes straight for the minibar to pour himself a glass of wine. He takes the whole bottle over to the desk on the terrace, certain he won’t bother any of his children, and takes a few sips as he waits for the computer to turn on and rummages through all the papers he still needs to check. 

Even if the day had thirty-six hours, he’d still have been unable to catch up with everything he needed to catch up, everything Tywin demanded him to look over. He’s exhausted, but he knows he wouldn’t manage to fall asleep if he were to take a shower and lie on the couch. His brain does not stop on command--learned that a long time ago. 

He’s sitting over the vast majority of buildings around the hotel. The street lights don’t reach this level and there are only a few scattered lights in the surrounding area. Jaime gets the funny feeling, once more, that he’s soaring over the city, all alone in the heights. There’s a certain security in working such late hours, when everyone else is asleep. No one bothers you while you work, that’s one thing, but also, in the dead hours of the night, there’s the certainty that everyone around you, everyone that you love and care about, are tucked away in bed, comfortable and warm, safe from the nightmares of life. That’s what kept Jaime going all those nights he stayed at the office, all those nights where he barely got any sleep, those forty-eight hours workdays that stretched on and on and on. His children. The certainty that they were at home, properly taken care of. The security that they’d want for nothing because he was providing them everything they could need. 

On top of the world, he finds that he is, however, conflicted. He’s spread thin amongst chores and responsibilities concerning Brienne, her family, his own family, work. Now that he’s sorted out his priorities, thanks no doubt to Miss Tarth, he really doesn’t know how the rest of parents on Earth manage to balance everything. 

What he really needs to decide is what’s going to happen come morning. Considering Brienne, her father, Podrick, and his own kids, Jaime’s got a decision to make--for Tywin has scheduled two meetings for tomorrow, and he’s certain to make up at least two more to keep him in the office all day long, the Gods permit. Jaime’s plan was to wrap up as much work as he could today so he’d be able to take leave for a couple of days more, but alas, this seems quite impossible now. All he has to do is take a look around at all the folders and all the impending mails he’s still to read and answer. 

_No point in complaining and whining now, _ he sighs. He decides, instead, to do as much work as humanly possible tonight, and come morning, he’ll make a decision. 

He forgot, however, that everyone else in this plan of his has a mind of their own. 

Breaking the silence, the phone rings with a god-awful high-pitched melody that would give an older man a heart attack. Without even saving the spreadsheet he was working on, he dashes across the terrace before the phone wakes his children and answers with a groan. It’s ten after midnight, who in the name of the Seven--? 

“Mr. Lannister, sorry to bother you so late,” apologizes the same night clerk as before, his voice shaking just a little bit. “but there’s a Miss Tarth calling for you.” 

“Put her through,” Jaime allows immediately, all the sleep and exhaustion vanished now--is there any news? Brienne’s soft voice greets him in under five seconds. 

“Hello, Brinny.” 

“So you did go to your hotel,” she says, accusatory voice. 

“I had work to do and didn’t want to bother any of you at home,” he replies, but then he registers the preoccupied tone in Brienne’s sentence. “Were you worried?” 

“You didn’t text or call to let me know where you’d be. I know you’re not used to answering to anybody and I’m not saying that you owe me any of that, but at the very least you could check your phone now and then!” she says. “I’ve already got my father and my son to worry about, don’t you dare make that list any longer!” 

“I’m sorry!” he begs, truly apologetic upon Brienne’s outburst. Frenzied, he checks the trousers’ pocket where he kept his phone--he had it on him in case Brienne called. . . And of course, the phone is dead. Should have checked the battery--he’s been receiving so many texts and calls, it’s a surprise it lasted this long. “Damn thing. I’m so sorry, Brinny, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just realized my phone ran out of battery. 

“Wait, was there something important you needed to tell me?” 

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she confirms, and Jaime embraces himself for the worst. “My father woke up almost two hours ago.” 

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Jaime whispers. He leans on the chair with his spare hand, the prosthetic hurting his wrist, but his brain barely acknowledges that pain. He’s too concerned about the fantastic news he’s just received. “Freaking finally. I’m so glad, Brinny. And so sorry that I wasn’t there. I never should have gone to work. . .” 

“It’s OK,” she tries reassuring him. 

“I’ll be right there. Visiting hours be damned,” he promises. “Do you want me there?” he asks as an afterthought, worried now. He still doesn’t know left from right in here and is scared to be doing it all wrong. Brienne eases his worries with a soft chuckle. 

“Of course, I do. I’ll be waiting. _We_ will.” 

“Fifteen minutes.” 

He hangs up the phone but picks it right up to ask the clerk to call him a cab--refusing to wake Christoph to drive him to the hospital again. 

“Father?” Sansa’s voice stops him just as he was taking his jacket and hotel key. 

“Honey. Can’t sleep?” he says, sweet voice in spite of his haste. 

She looks over at the phone with an apologetic smile. Jaime sighs in regret, wondering how many of his children are actually awake, waiting for any news, and if Sansa was the chosen messenger for any reason in particular. 

Crossing the room, he meets her and gives her a soft peck on the forehead. “Miss Tarth’s father has woken up, so I’m headed back to the hospital. They won’t allow seven children in there, honey,” he interjects before she tries to say anything. “You stay here and try to catch up on sleep. You can tell your siblings in the morning.” 

“Okay, Father. Just stay with Miss Tarth.” 

“I will. I promise this time,” he says, gently nudging her back to the dorms. “If you need anything, Tyrion’s in the suite next to this one.” 

He stares after her, making sure she does make it to her room--she was way too tired. When she closes the door, Jaime checks his watch again, regretting leaving them alone, but he must get to the hospital. Downstairs, he orders the night clerk that they inform Tyrion first thing in the morning that the children are alone in the suite once more, and instructs that they just abide any petitions they get from the Lannister kids. He knows they’re going to take full advantage of the situation, ordering food and whatnot, and he might as well let them have some fun. 

The cab gets there in five more minutes, and they cross the city in record time, mainly because of the substantial tip Jaime promises the driver--and delivers it, of course, at the end of the ride. 

There’re barely any signs of activity at the hospital, and Jaime somehow manages to get past nurses and security guards and reaches the second floor ICU. He finds the room in question and stops at the sight: Selwyn talking to her daughter. He cannot hear the conversation and prefers staying out of it for now, giving father and daughter the time they deserve to catch up after so damned long. 

A few minutes pass and Brienne takes a cup from the table, helping her father drink some water, by using a straw. He must be exhausted still, for when he’s done taking the smallest of sips, Selwyn gives Brienne a smile and rests his head against the pillow, again. 

Considering he’s been lurking out here long enough, Jaime knocks on the door. The radiant, yet tired, smile that shows on Brienne’s face as she looks up at him almost melts his heart, even with the tears at the corners of her eyes. Under different circumstances, Jaime would reach out to kiss her and wipe those tears, but there’s no way he can do that now. He just crosses the room and stands by Selwyn’s bedside. 

“Mr. Tarth, I’m Jaime Lannister,” he greets formally, going around the bed to offer his hand. Whether it’s due to the medication or the exhaustion, Selwyn is shocked upon Jaime offering his left hand for the shake, and it takes him about ten full seconds to react and hold out his hand. 

Selwyn then closes his eyes and rests his head against the pillow, no words to acknowledge Jaime or Brienne’s presence there. After a few seconds, they hear his deep breathing, signaling that he’s fallen asleep. Brienne then stands, taking Jaime by the arm to drag him away from the patient, lest they wake him up again. 

“He’s been coming and going since he woke up,” she explains in a whisper. She then takes a good look at Jaime’s face and frowns, reaching a hand to hold his chin. “What in the world happened to you?” 

“Nothing,” promises Jaime, taking her hand. Now he wipes the tears off both her eyes and hugs her tightly. She rests her head against his shoulder and he can feel her trembling--she’s set off crying again. She’s been through the unspeakable while taking her of her son and Jaime, no wonder she’s got a lot to let go of. “Worse is over now, Brinny. It’s going to be a long recovery, but he’ll pull through it, d’you hear me? He will. We all will.” 

“Yes,” she nods against his shoulder. 

After a while, when her sobs subside, he drags her back to the chair. She sits as comfortable as it gets, the leather creaking whenever she moves, and Jaime covers her with a blanket, before kneeling in front of her, his hand on her arm. She nods to confirm that she’s alright now, and Jaime leans to kiss her on the forehead as he stands. 

“By the way,” he whispers against her ear. “Marvelous news as these are, they’re not the biggest news in the city tonight.” 

“What do you mean?” she shrieks, looking around for any threats. 

“My kids decided to go on a field trip today. . . And landed right here in Vienna.” 

“Your kids?” Brienne repeats, as if she hadn’t heard him perfectly, barely believing his words. She looks around, almost expecting to see those seven children around the ICU, probably causing some turmoil already. Jaime eases her worries taking her hand to his lips. 

“It’s okay. They’re fine,” he reassures her, low voice. “They just missed you so much, and were so concerned for your father, also.” 

“They’re nice kids,” smiles Brienne, caressing Jaime’s hand. 

“Oftentimes,” Jaime says, with a dramatic shiver. He can still see the fright and uncertainty in Brienne’s eyes and he cups her chin, all jokes gone now. “Seriously, Brienne, they will give you no reason to worry. Everything will be alright. They’re staying at my hotel room for the moment, and in the morning, we’ll discuss everything we need to discuss.” 

She listens to his words, wishing desperately they’re true. After his short speech, she nods, settling back on the chair, closing her eyes. Jaime caresses her hair and shoulders for a few minutes, until he’s certain she’s fallen asleep, too. 

Little left to do now, he goes around the bed towards the spare chair in the room and drags it as close to Brinny’s as it gets, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wills himself to stay awake for as long as he can, in case Selwyn were to wake up again, he wouldn’t want the man to feel abandoned even though Brienne has barely left his side all this time. But, it doesn’t take him less than fifteen minutes to join Morpheus’ embrace as well. 

“I’m sorry for your predicament, Brinny, and I sympathize, but it’s the truth.” 

“Yes, I understand, Sammy.” 

“Don’t think of it as failing your father. . .” 

Jaime doesn’t feel rested at all waking up in that gods forsaken chair, his neck and back hurting as worse as if he’d slept on the ground. But that conversation he overhears between Sam and Brienne, spoken in whispers in a corner of a room, compels him to pretend to be asleep for a few minutes more. He knows full well they wouldn’t be straight with him concerning Selwyn’s condition and what he, and Brienne, need in the imminent future. If this is how he’ll learn the honest truth, to know all the facts and really help in the situation, so be it. Just one more thing to take care of this morning, he sighs. Brienne’s father, Brienne’s kid, his children. 

“I don’t consider this a failure either,” promises Sammy, warm voice. “It’s just fact. Your father’s been through a lot, and he’s a strong man, but he shouldn’t be forced to endure more than his body can handle. He needs help. More than the one I can provide him with.” 

“He needs full-time care,” Brienne concludes. 

“It is my professional assessment,” confirms Sammy. “The doctors will say the same.” 

“Okay,” sighs Brienne. “Okay. Let me think about it.” 

“There’s time until he’s released,” the nurse says softly, as if those extra days were to help Brienne at all in her conundrum. 

“You should go, Sammy,” she says. “Thank you for everything. We’ll see you later.” 

“You bet.” 

Jaime waits until Sammy leaves, and then a few minutes more. He must have left the door slightly open, for the rattle and noise of a busy morning barges into the room, and Jaime wonders how much sleep did he actually get--Gods, he never meant to be out of it for too long, he was supposed to be there for Brienne. 

Remorse gets the better of him and he opens his eyes. Stretching his neck and arms, a blanket drops off his shoulders, the blanket he wrapped Brienne last night in. So, once more, she went out of her way to take care of him, again, when she shouldn’t have. He’s starting to feel like he’s not doing anything right and that he’s not supporting Brinny at all by being here, quite the opposite, really. 

The clock in the wall informs that it’s fifteen past nine o’clock, and he scowls, jumping to his feet. He should have called Christopher and the kids hours ago. Alas--where in the world is Christopher? And well, it’s crystal clear now that he won’t be going to the office today. Tywin and all those meetings be damned, there’re people who need him more than the company. He can, and will, take a day off. 

“Morning,” Brienne greets, handing him a coffee cup. 

“I’m sorry. I never meant to sleep so much,” he apologizes, trying to hide a face. Well, this obviously comes from the hospital vending machines. 

“What’re you apologizing for? You clearly needed it,” she replies, toasting with their cups, not at all worried about him getting a good few hours of sleep. “But, if you must know, you’d never be successful in a drama career.” 

Jaime chokes on his drink and looks back up at Brienne. She doesn’t seem pissed off either at him eavesdropping on the conversation, albeit she’s not happy about it, either--must have seen it was for a good reason, too. Nervous about it all now, Jaime rests against the wall, and Brienne stands in front of him, staring down at her coffee cup. 

“And what’re we going to do?” he asks softly. 

Her eyes glued on the coffee at her hands, Brienne shrugs. “I do not know.” 

“I think you do, actually,” Jaime replies, tilting his head. She does know. The answer must have appeared in her head the minute Sammy mentioned Selwyn’s needs--or maybe it appeared days ago, when they first got to the hospital, or when she first heard of her father’s stroke. She was aware of his condition and needs before this latest incident, and now that the situation’s gotten worse, she knows what’d be the best thing for her father, and how to get it. 

“Jaime, we were talking about it the other day,” she scowls, but somehow manages to keep her voice to a whisper. “I cannot just take your money.” 

“Baby, it’s not as if you’re asking to go on a cruise around the Mediterranean. Although I wouldn’t oppose giving you that money if you--” One look from Brienne tells him this isn’t the appropriate time or subject to joke, albeit he wasn’t really joking or making fun of her, not this time. “This is your father we’re talking about, and about giving him the best possible care we can give him. It’s not even a question.” 

Still, she looks so uncertain and confused that Jaime cannot bring himself to persuade her, not at this moment, at the very least. 

“You make it sound so easy, but it’s really not.” 

“I hate to remind you of something you already know, but we’re adults here, Brinny," he says, sweetest voice possible--she knows that better than he does. "We’re supposed to make the hard decisions and choices. Adulthood is pretty darned hard.” 

“Yeah,” Brienne lets out a sad chuckle, avoiding Jaime’s eye. “Wish we could go back in time.” 

“And risking never meeting you? No chance in hell,” he scowls. 

At that, Jaime walks across the room to meet her, embracing her by the waist. After a second, a small smile appears on her face--nothing could bring her down now that her father’s finally awake--and looks down at him. 

“Okay, honey. You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says softly. “I’m just asking that you consider this as a real possibility when you do decide. And, like Sammy said, accepting help isn’t defeat or failing--it’s looking out for your father.” 

“Dad,” she says then, tears in her eyes as she looks past Jaime, who lets her go at once. 

Their conversation on hold for the time being, Brienne rushes past Jaime, and he spins around to join her by Selwyn’s bedside. The man is just opening his eyes, and Brienne offers him a bit of water to drink again. 

“Come now, no more tears, d’you hear me?” he demands Brienne, pulling her for a hug. 

“Yeah, that’s what I keep telling her,” nods Jaime. 

It takes him all of two seconds to realize that he hasn’t yet reached the joking and teasing stage with Mr. Tarth, who at that moment, lets go of his daughter and looks at him, evaluating eyes, from head to toes. Jaime clears his throat, wishing he could freeze time and have five minutes in the bathroom to wash his face and check his suit--maybe even ask Christopher to bring him a change of clothes. It’s all too late now, and he relies solely on common sense and courtesy. 

“Sir, I don’t know if you remember me--” Jaime begins. 

“Of course, I do. Mr. Jaime Lannister, right?” nods Selwyn, accepting, again, Jaime’s left hand to shake. “Brienne’s employer back in Salzburg.”

“I cannot express how nice it is to see you awake. We’ve been a little bit worried here,” Jaime confesses, exchanging one look with Brienne, at the other end of the bed. All that’s long past, now, her smile says. 

“Well, it appears the ticker’s still ticking,” jokes Selwyn, pointing at his chest, proudly. “Let me get this straight: you’re the jackass employer who was a pig and pretty much screwed my daughter just a few months ago?” 

“Dad!” complains Brienne, standing to her feet. 

“It’s fine, Brinny, he’s free to speak the truth,” Jaime tries to calm her down. Well, he now sees where Brienne got her daring character from, and why she’s never shy to speak up and tell the truth--sometimes throwing it at who deserves so. 

“Damn right, I am,” scoffs Selwyn. 

“And to answer your earlier question: I’m that jackass employer, yes.” 

“If you are, what in the world are you doing here?” 

“Dad, stop it, right now! The doctors said you need to be calm and avoid unnecessary distressing situations!” insists Brienne. 

“I suppose you could say I’m dating your daughter,” explains Jaime. 

That answer was against all of Brienne’s wishes, he knows that. Thew woman freezes out of shock, unable to chastise Jaime for the confession nor try to mend his words in front of her father, for that would be too much for his poor heart only days after he had a heart surgery. But surprising them both, Selwyn doesn’t look at all outraged or displeased with Jaime's honesty, quite the opposite, in fact. He doesn't go into protective dad mode and put Jaime through a two-hour lecture on how to take care of his daughter. He doesn't even seem surprised at the news, to begin with. He looks at his daughter, who sighs deeply. He tends to do that, she reckons. Surprising everybdoy around. 

“You got what you wanted, then? No Baroness?” he asks. 

_No Baroness?_ Seeing Brienne go scarlet red despite the darkness of the room, Jaime raises an eyebrow, going from scared to amused in a matter of seconds. How much did she tell her father about him and Cersei? Most of all, for how long has _she_ had feelings towards him? If she told Selwyn that she was coming back for him, to get rid of Cersei, she must have been sure of her feelings way before that. Maybe that’s exactly why she left in the first place. Fled the mansion the night of the ball gown, where they danced. . . Did she realize her true feelings then, as well? 

Obviously, this isn’t the time to ponder it all or ask her, for she’s struggling enough as it is, which only brings a highly untimely smile up to Jaime’s lips. 

“No Baroness,” she somehow manages to utter, without looking neither at Selwyn or Jaime. 

Selwyn nods in approval, turning towards Jaime again. 

“Then I suppose this should be a welcome to the family hug instead,” he says, beaming, pulling Jaime in. Surprised, he’s still got the speed to lean on the bed, to avoid all of his height falling over poor Selwyn. 

“Thank you, sir,” he whispers, exchanging one look with Brienne. Now the tables have turned: she’s the one smirking down at him, whereas Jaime is completely at a loss for words or proper response. After all, he comes from a family where public displays of affection and physical intimacy are. . . Well, not banned per se, but frowned upon. 

“Nothing that formal, please,” replies Selwyn. “First-name terms from now on.” 

“I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy, Dad. Took me a while,” Brienne points out, who’s slowly recovering her voice and humor. She sits on the bed, grabbing her father’s hand, and almost grazing Jaime’s arm with hers. 

“Well, then, we better start soon,” suggests Selwyn. 

“Alright, sir--Selwyn,” Jaime mends, although, as Brienne said, it won’t come as natural for him as anyone else. Even after they had Sansa, he still addressed Elsa’s father with ‘sir’. Of course, there were involved matters of economical and social statuses, but still, old habits die hard. 

“And if I may. . . I’ve just suffered a stroke and had surgery, but you look worse than I do,” says Selwyn, checking Jaime’s face with a disapproving eye. 

“What are you saying? Have you looked in a mirror by any chance?” scowls Brienne. “The first stop we’ll do when you leave the hospital is to a hairdresser, Dad, I promise you now.” 

“Oh, let me be,” scowls Selwyn, pushing her hands away. “All I’m saying is, you look like you could use a bed and some sleep, too. No offense.” 

“None taken,” chuckles Jaime. “I get what you mean, really.” 

“Should I ask the nurses to install another bed in the room for you two?” 

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Jaime says. 

“Okay, enough formalities now, tell me everything that I’ve missed. How’s Pod? How’re you two holding up?” Selwyn asks, waving at them both to come closer without fright or remorse and to feel free to sit on the bed.

_Here we are,_ he sighs deeply, leaning his waist against the bed. Two minutes after meeting the man and they’re joking and laughing already. If this was the other way around, if this was Brienne meeting Tywin, by now they’d be yelling already, throwing things at each other. Of course, Brienne might surprise him, like she’s done on so many occasions, but Jaime doesn’t plan on risking that meeting anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne try balancing the lives of rearing eight children, taking care of Selwyn, and running a company. Somehow, they pull through the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support and patience !! Here's chapter 29 . . . 
> 
> Good or bad news is, the story is expanding more than I'd originally planned and probably will be longer than the 34-chapter-story that was the first draft !

“Christoph is bringing in Podrick,” says Jaime after hanging up the phone--provided that the driver came by an hour ago with his charger, of course. “I’ll leave to give you two some time with your father.” 

“And maybe to take care of your own children, too?” suggests Brienne. 

“Yeah, that too.” 

If up until now he thought managing Lannister Co. was difficult, he only needed to fit into the schedule Brienne, Selwyn, Podrick, and all of his children to be proven wrong. They almost need a spreadsheet to make it work, for God’s sake. 

Just a few feet behind Brienne, nurses and doctors have been coming and going from Selwyn’s room for the last hour, running all sorts of tests. The best sign that shows her father is truly back is the fact that all the staff leaves the room with a small on their faces, maybe even laughing--Selwyn’s already entertaining them with jokes and alike. Maybe Jaime is right and the fastest way to normal is to split up, for the time being. 

“Do not worry and take whatever time you need with your son and father,” says Jaime, sweet voice. “It’s long, long overdue. We’ll be waiting, if that’s what you think it’s right. Just. . . Give me a call in case you need anything. I promise to answer this time.” 

Brienne smiles, appreciating all the freeway Jaime’s giving her in a situation that’s not easy for him, much less for her. With that, Jaime leans to give her a soft peck on the lips, the first time he’s kissed her in here, although he retreats almost immediately. 

“Let me say goodbye to your father.” 

Before she can think of stopping him, Jamie’s already headed for Selwyn’s room, and she follows behind. She’s still hoping her father was half out of his mind due to the drugs and does not remember what sort of relationship has she got with Jaime. 

“What were you two plotting out there?” demands Selwyn as soon as they step into the room. 

“No _coup d’état_ for the time being, Dad,” she reassures him, “just figuring out life.”

“Ain’t that a riddle,” chuckles Selwyn. 

“I’m afraid I have to leave now, Mr. Tarth,” says Jaime, picking up his jacket from the chair and folding it over his arm. 

“Go! Please, don’t spend your day locked up in here,” says Selwyn. “Go do something more useful. And maybe you could do me the favor of taking my daughter with you--?”

“Not going to happen, Dad,” Brienne states before Jaime says a word, for he already had a hand on the door to show her out. “Pod will get here in a little while, he’s been dying to see you. He’ll tell you all about the aquarium visits and the homemade pancakes you’ve missed. And all the questions about the creation of the universe he’s got stored up just for you.”

Allowing Brienne and her father to enjoy some quality time they haven’t had for weeks because of him and his job in Salzburg, Jaime slithers out of the room, and then leaves the hospital. He jumps into the first cab waiting in the line in front of the hospital and gives the name of the Palais Coburg Residenz. 

He can barely close his eyes for two seconds straight before his phone rings again. Checking the number, he groans, considering the possibility of throwing the phone out of the window, but he does take the call from his father. He might want to know that his grandchildren are here in Vienna. 

“You’re supposed to be at your office,” Tywin says right off the bat, pleasantries such as greetings being completely useless for him.

“Am I?” replies Jaime, tiredness exploding at a very bad time. “And here I thought that I was. Must have been a nightmare.” 

“Stop joking, Jaime! You better come this minute. You are not missing any more meetings.” 

“Let me tell ask you something, Father. What would you say if your grandchildren were here in Vienna?”

“What’s brought this on? Is this some kind of trick?”

“No tricks or clever maneuvers. Just a question,” says Jaime, dropping his head against the window and closing his eyes. He already got his answer with that response from Tywin and it’s not good. No wonder his kids never wanted to have anything to do with him, the way he’s mistreated them for so damned long. 

“What does it matter, Jaime? Are they coming to the office instead of you?” 

“No, of course not,” he promises. Seeing, in retrospect, how he’s ended up because of the Lannister Empire and Tywin, he’s not so sure he wants any of his children following in his footsteps. He’ll try to keep them all away from Tywin and Lannister Co. for as long as possible. 

“Then, I suggest you get--” 

“No, I don’t think I’m coming in today, Father,” interjects Jaime. “You’re not interested in seeing your grandchildren, I am most certainly not interested in seeing you and wasting my whole day away buried in meetings and figures.”

“What’re you talking--”

“I have much more pressing matters to attend to today,” he interjects. 

“The most important matter that requires your attention is this business, Jaime!” 

“Yeah. Possibly,” he grants. “Talk to you later, Father.”

He hangs up the call before his Father starts yelling and damning his name. Next second, the phone rings, Tywin again, and Jaime declines the call. He puts the phone into the silent mode to avoid listening to that ringtone twenty times in a row, sending a message to Brienne telling her that if he is unable to attend her calls, she can get in touch with him through Christopher. And he instructs the driver not to answer any calls or messages from Tywin. 

With that, he can finally breathe easier and better for the first time in. . . He doesn’t even remember the last time he felt so free. Of course, he’s not forgetting the matter about Brienne’s father and his children, that’s life for him, but the burden of the company and the struggles Lannister Co. is currently facing are, for once, not on his shoulders. It makes all the difference, being able to sort out his priorities, knowing that the children are really that much important than his company, making time for them. 

Unaware, a small smile has grown on his lips as the taxi pulls over in front of the hotel. Jaime even wishes the driver a good day as he descends and then he checks in with the clerk at the reception in case they’ve had any trouble with his kids. The negative answer leads Jaime to think, again, if they’re just pretending and lying because of his last name. 

In the elevator, a clerk carrying a tray of food makes his stomach rumble all the way up, although the three people present in the elevator pretend that did not happen. When the clerk turns towards his suite too, Jaime guesses that’s supposed to be the kids’ breakfast, and holds his door open for him. 

“Come on in.” 

“Here are the bakeries!” announces Robb, standing from the dining table, where the seven kids and Tyrion are enjoying a plentiful breakfast. For a few seconds, they only have eyes for the bakeries, overshadowing Jaime’s presence until he thanks the clerk’s efforts by giving him a generous tip. 

“Father! Welcome!” everyone greets. 

“Come and sit down!” says Gendry, pointing at one of the spare chairs. “Dig in!”

Jaime checks the coffee pot and pours himself a cup before sitting down between Robb and Tyrion. Itching to ask for the newspaper, for his routine involves reading the news with his morning coffee, he stays quiet and looks around. 

The papers and folders he left before leaving hastily for the hospital are neatly laying on the coffee table, and now every available spot of the dining table is occupied with food. Eggs, bacon, toasts, cereals, and now bakeries, they haven’t been shy ordering. Jaime almost wants to bet that they couldn’t possibly finish all that food--and he probably would have lost all of his money. By the time he stands in order to regain control of the room, almost all the food is gone. 

“Are you all finished?” he asks, not as rude as his question would indicate--just making sure they satiated one basic need. 

“Weeeeell,” says Robb, blushing slightly, “can you pass me that croissant?”

Jaime looks down on the tray of bakeries in front of him and hands one of the croissants to Robb. Afterward, taking a look around, hands the two remaining ones to Arya and Brandon. When they’ve taken the first bite, the three of them wave at him as if to say he can now proceed with his speech. 

“Can I assume that Sansa’s told you the news about--?”

“I have,” interjects the girl. 

“Very well, then,” approves Jaime. His control over the room and the conversation finishes right there and then, though. 

“Is he going to recover fully?” Robb asks. 

“How is Mr. Tarth holding up?” is Sansa's question.

“Are we going to see him?” asks Jon.

“And Fräulein Brienne? Can we see her?” demands Rickon. 

“Kids, one at a time, come on,” begs Tyrion by his side, although Jaime takes a more direct and less subtle approach. 

“If you let me speak, maybe I can answer some of your questions,” he says, and with that, he does manage silence. “Thank you. Now, you should know that Mr. Tarth’s condition is still severe and he needs all the rest he can get. There’s a long road ahead of him till full recovery and because of that, Fräulein Brienne will have to stay by his side every step of the way.” 

“She won’t return to Salzburg?” asks Brandon, the sorrow clear in his shaky voice, making Jaime’s heart shatter in a million pieces. He wants to part way with Brienne nearly as much as the kids do, but, as they’ve said before, that’s life for them. They’ll have to see what happens down the line. For now, he knows he cannot lie to his children again. 

“I’m afraid there’s a very high possibility that she doesn’t,” he confesses in a deep sigh, massaging his temples. “We’ll have to see how her father improves these next few days. For the time being, our focus here must be to help her out in any way we can. We’re not supposed to be a burden for her right now. Which means, she cannot be your governess at the moment.”

“_We’re_ going to be _her_ governess instead!” supplies Rickon, making a roar of laughter raise in the dining room. 

“I wouldn’t exactly phrase it like that, but yeah, Rickon, that’s the general idea. Moral support, a distraction, a shoulder to cry on, someone to take a walk with, or buying her food to make sure she eats. Whatever she needs, we provide. That’s the ground rule right now. Are we clear?” 

“Yes, Father,” they all agree at the same time. Even though they used that forsaken title, Jaime can tell the difference. He’s not bossing around, they’re not simply taking his words as sacred and unbreakable orders, as if they were back in the military. They agree because they can see this is what Brienne needs right now and because they’re willing to do it all, for her. 

“Just to be clear, then, does that mean we’re not going to meet Mr. Tarth?” asks Jon. 

“Seven kids in a hospital would kind of defeat the purpose of resting and taking things slow, kiddo,” sighs Jaime. “I’m afraid it is not possible. Not today.” 

“Okay,” he accepts, a bit defeated. 

“So. . . What can we do for Fräulein Brienne right now?” asks Arya. 

“There’s something else you need to know,” says Jaime, pointing at her to sit back down before she runs out the door. He and Brienne didn’t have the time to discuss everything tiny detail, so he’s kind of in uncharted territory right now, but he’s following his gut for the time being. He hopes he’s not so terribly wrong as so many other times before. “Fräulein Brienne has a son.” 

Holding his breath, Jaime looks up and down the table. Even Tyrion seems shocked, doing an internal calculus just as Jaime did a couple of days back when he first saw Podrick. Brienne is just so damned young. . . Jaime lets Tyrion make all the assumptions he wants and returns to the kids, for they’re his primary concern. 

“A. . . _A son?”_ repeats Sansa, shocked to the core. “But. . . She’s not married, is she?” 

“And that’s exactly the sort of remark you’ll refrain from expressing in front of them,” Jaime warns. Probably a good call telling them in advance, then. Why shouldn’t they be as shocked as he was when he first knew about the boy and pretend that they aren’t? “Look, you’ve lived all your lives in our Manor in Salzburg, cut off from the rest of the world. And, yeah, okay, that’s probably on me. But the thing you need to understand is that family comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The fact that I married your mother before having any of you kids does not mean everyone else in the world has to do the same thing.” 

“We. . . We understand, Father,” says Robb. 

“The news just took us by surprise, that is all,” agrees Sansa. 

At that, Jaime takes a deep breath and looks for counsel and help from his brother, seated to his right. Tyrion answers by giving him a cautious look and an encouraging nod of his head. Even Brienne would agree that he needs to take things slow. Having a real conversation with his children is the first step, for sure, but there’s no need to rush things up. They’re surprised upon the reveal of Brienne having a son but, fore and foremost, Jaime realizes, because he’s mentioned Elsa for the first time in so long. It felt wrong to him, too. 

“Right,” he nods, staring at the table. Teachings learned long ago remind him not to show insecurity or fright during a conversation by gazing at the floor Jaime instantly raises his head to have eye contact with his children. “This boy, Podrick. . . He is part of Brienne’s private life and she will tell you about him if she so wishes. Also, it’s entirely up to her for you to meet the boy and I do not have a say in the matter. Are we clear?” 

“Yes, Father,” they say once more. 

“Have you met him?” asks Gendry. 

“Yes, I’ve spent some time with him while Fräulein Tarth was at the hospital. His name is Podrick, he’s ten-years-old, and he’s a very nice lad, but that’s no surprise, considering who his mother is.” 

“Indeed,” agrees Robb. 

“Okay, is there anything else you need to tell us?” asks Jon, making sure there are no more surprises in store. 

“No, I think that’s it,” says Jaime, rubbing his hand on his trousers. He better avoid mentioning Tywin Lannister and the fact that he refuses to see his own grandchildren in spite of them all being in the same city at the same time. After all, the kids know their grandfather works and lives in Vienna, and haven’t even mentioned him at all so far. They’re as interested in seeing him as he is to see them all, which works out nicely, because Jaime was not down to mediate amongst his family members today. 

“So, what can we do to help Fräulein Brienne right now?” demands Sansa again. Third time’s the winner and this time around, Jaime does answer the question. 

“For the time being, the best thing we can do is to stay out of her hair,” he says, a statement that gets disappointed looks up and down the table. Yeah, he gets the feeling--he’d stay by Brienne’s side all day long if she’d let him. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but I promise you, the best way of helping her today is to keep away and let her have some time with her father and her son. 

“Which, in other words, means that we have a whole day ahead of us to visit Vienna,” he concludes, knowing that’s a piece of news that will get the kids excited. And, damn right, it does: their faces light up instantly. They might be here to show support for Miss Tarth, but they were not going to miss the chance of visiting the city. 

“Marvelous plan,” says Sansa, taking from the Gods know where a guide book of Vienna. While all of her siblings laugh and complain, Jaime’s reaction is mostly to wonder how on Earth hasn’t he brought his children to Vienna before, in spite of all his business trips. How was it so hard for him to understand that he needed to make time for his children, and not some woman who couldn’t possibly help him move on from Elsa? 

“Hey, look! We could go to the zoo,” Arya says, flicking through the pages of the guidebook. 

“And that’s officially my cue to leave,” says Tyrion instead, wiping his lips on a napkin before he stands from the chair. “I’ll also get out of your hair and let you enjoy the city by yourselves.”

“Don’t you want to see Vienna?” asks Jaime, amused voice, for he already knows the answer, as he follows Tyrion across the room. 

“Not my first time in the city, thank you very much. You have fun storming the castle,” he says, waving goodbye. 

As soon as he slams the door shut and Jaime hears the rattle of his children arguing and discussing the most famous landmarks in Vienna, he realizes that this is the first time in a very, very long time that Jaime’s all alone with his children. No governesses, no Tyrion, no Staff members to mediate. Months, at the very least. It certainly can’t have been _years,_ can it? Even when the past few governesses quit and left service, he had the staff around. He actually ordered them to take care of the kids, as a matter of fact. 

Well, be as it may, Brienne has shown him and proved him he can do many things he never thought he could do. Bringing music back into his life, seeing that he didn’t truly love Elsa, realizing all the time he’d let slip away regarding his kids, standing out to Tywin, sorting out the real priorities in his life. . . Well, he won’t say he’s become Superman, but a strange feeling of confidence in himself has certainly been sowed. 

This might just work out in the end, he sighs. And no point in whining about it now, he’ll have to deal with his children singlehandedly. He turns around, seeing the children so excited for the day ahead. 

“Decided where are we going first?”

The Opera House, the Natural History Museum, the Ringstrasse. . . Although they’ve only got one day, no option is off-limits, no suggestion off the table. Jaime would literally give his kids the world and at the end of the day he realizes he’s lucky they’re not taking advantage of him just yet, but for the time being, their demands are completely reasonable. One after the other, the kids drag Jaime all over the city, including some landmarks he hadn’t even seen in person before. He knows by heart the business area, but that’s about it--whenever he visited Baroness Cersei, he stayed in her mansion, never posed as a tourist. 

It’s a brand new chance to meet the city and, to be quite honest, to meet the kids, too. They help him see things he would have missed otherwise, and to have a hell of a time, running around, eating enough ice-creams to get brain freeze, singing now and then, and shopping way too many unnecessary clothes. But seeing the joyful faces in his kid’s eyes, the way they just can’t stay restless and feel they must see everything, compensates everything else. 

“Hey, want to know why trees have so many friends? They branch out.” 

Despite his jokes, the kids would confess they’re enjoying themselves too, especially when Jaime bribes them with toys and coloring books and what else. The sign that tells him he’s finally doing something right is the fact that sometimes the children feel like bursting into singing--and he’s not stopping nor chastising them for it, at all. He’s still got a long way to go, both music-wise and rearing and bonding with his children, but he needs to acknowledge the little wins he gets day by day. Seeing them so happy fills his heart with joy and further convinces him that he did the right thing brushing off Tywin earlier. 

There might be consequences, but. . . He cannot worry about those now. He needs to enjoy the time he’s got with his children as much as he can. The time will come, not too far down the line, where he needs to disappear again under a pile of work. 

Around midday, since he hasn’t heard from her still, he takes a moment to text Brienne--he doesn’t dare to call her and catch her at a bad time. It seems the family hasn’t had quite enough time to catch up, what with all the tests the doctors are running, so Jaime doesn’t even suggest planning a time for them all to meet. Each needs to move on with their lives and their respective families, that is all. Maybe that’s what they’ll have to do not too far down the line. 

And right now, in Jaime’s case, that involves finishing the tour around the zoo. 

After a morning of giving the kids total freedom around the city, doing whatever they wanted, Jaime chooses the place where they're going to eat: a sushi restaurant he's been dying to return to. The cuisine is superb and the service is excellent, of course, two main reasons why he’s had three or four business meetings in here in the past couple of years alone. But the main attraction of the place is, no doubt, the pond with live creatures in it. 

The kids are enthralled the minute they see it, of course. And while Jaime orders, Brandon, Rickon, Gendry, and Arya spend a few minutes on the small wooden bridge over the pond, trying to keep track of all the fishes. Dragging them back to the table to eat is kind of an uphill battle, but in the end, as Jaime promised, they do enjoy the food. 

Halfway through lunch, Jaime gets a call from Brienne. Excusing himself for just a minute, although he does give Sansa, to his left, those forsaken ten cents because of his phone ringing at the dining table, he answers the call in a corner. 

“So. . . This is happening,” says Brienne after some minutes. Nervous and amused voice, Jaime knows exactly what she’s feeling. 

“Yeah, I think so,” agrees Jaime, looking over his shoulder to the table. As it turns out, the plan includes regrouping with Brienne, Podrick, and the kids meeting, and spending the afternoon all together. “Are we ready for this?"

"Ready or not, it's happening," sighs Brienne, amused tone.

"Right. I’ll see you very soon. Christopher knows exactly where you need to go.” 

“Very well, then.” 

Jaime returns to the table with what can only be considered childish excitement and, of course, his kids can tell right away something has changed. He’s got barely the chance to sit down and lay the napkin back on his legs that the kids are already questioning him about the conclusions of the phone call. 

“Okay, kids, here’s the thing,” he starts off, using his business-like voice to make sure they take him seriously this time. “We cannot go to the hospital, but Brienne’s dying to see you too, so she’s coming here instead. . . With Podrick. Would that be alright with you all?” 

“Yes, Father,” they all nod. 

“Of course.” 

“We want to meet him!” cheers Rickon. 

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure Podrick will be delighted to meet you, too. They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,” Jaime announces. 

As more cheers raise up and down the table, he lets out a silent sigh, so relieved that this was his children’s reaction instead of a flat-out refusal. He wouldn’t want to order his kids into anything anymore. He then raises a hand, attracting a waiter’s attention, to demand they set two more chairs on the table and bring in another menu. Given how late it is, they might appreciate someone ordering their food beforehand. 

Brienne and Podrick arrive ten minutes later, Christopher leading the way and pointing at their table. Jaime’s the first one to spot Brienne’s tall figure and golden hair across the restaurant, amongst the tables, the waiters, and the customers. Probably failing at social conventions regarding his children, he stands from his chair to greet them both--he just had to hug Brienne, he’s missed her so much already. 

His heart beats a bit lighter when he kneels and sees a genuine smile on Podrick’s face. Seems that everyone’s doing much better now that Selwyn is finally awake, himself included. 

“Hey, you two,” he greets, kneeling so he can high-five Podrick. “How are you?” 

“I’m good. Hungry, mostly.” 

“Well, your food’s on the table already,” says Jaime. “And I’m so glad you could make it, because there’re some people who I know are just so thrilled to meet you. Want to meet them too?” 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody,” Brienne encourages with that radiant smile of hers, giving Podrick a good squeeze on the hand she was holding. At that, Podrick nods and Jaime leads the way back to their table. 

“Fräulein Brienne!” yells Rickon, the first one to spot her. 

“We’ve missed you!” Brandon adds. 

“It’s so nice to see you again! It’s been too long!” says Gendry, following his siblings’ example and standing from his chair out of politeness--well, at least Jaime taught them something correctly. 

“How’s your father?” 

Brienne cannot possibly answer Jon’s question, for she’s too busy hugging and kissing every one of the kids, confessing how much she’s missed them all in the past few days. The sight makes Jaime freeze for a second or two, the fact that the kids correspond her feelings, as well. In the few weeks she’s known the kids, she’s given them all so damn much. Saying that his and Brienne’s parenting skills are widely different is an obviousness and an absurdity only by examining the different responses they get from the kids: that is, Jaime’s never had, and cannot predict it happening in the imminent future, any welcome like that. Public, honest, warm-hearted. Hugs, kisses, laughter. He’s come so far, and yet there’s so much work to be done still. 

Trying not to feel hurt because of it, Jaime takes Podrick’s hand and proceeds to introduce his seven children. As nervous as Podrick looked a second ago, it all vanishes now that he sees the Lannister sons and daughters are only kids like him. 

“Come on, sit here!” says Gendry, pointing at the empty seat by his side, although he nearly pushes the kid to sit down. 

“Want some soda? Water?” Sansa suggests the few beverages on the table, allowing Podrick to choose whatever he’d like. He points at the bottle of water and Sansa pours him a glass. 

Back at the head of the table, Jaime and Brienne stand still, letting the first few seconds scrape by, until they’re certain the initial blow has passed. No insults, snide remarks, or arguments raise in the first minute after meeting Podrick and so, they breathe again. Exchanging one relieved look, even letting out a small chuckle at the unnecessary worry they’ve both suffered these past few beats, Jaime gets Brienne’s chair for her. 

“You simply couldn’t have chosen a McDonald’s or a Burger Kind, could you?” demands Brienne then, with a roll of eyes. “Somewhere _I_ could have invited you lot?” 

“You don’t have to invite us anywhere,” Jaime refuses, seizing the chance that the kids are all distracted to give Brienne a quick peck on the hair. He quickly resumes his seat before Brienne chastises him because of it. “Plus, this suit isn’t made for McDonald’s.” 

“Changing was out of the question, then?” asks Brienne. He did take off his tie and leave the jacket at the hotel, but didn’t have the time to change into regular clothes that the kids were already dragging him out of the suite. And anyway, he doesn’t usually take jeans on his travels. 

“What the hell is this?” scowls Podrick, a few seats down, shocking Jaime and Brienne once more. But the proclamation came only because of the food on the table: he’s examining with weary eyes the dish Arya had handed him. “This is my lunch?” 

“Just try it out, honey,” Brienne suggests, taking the chopsticks Jaime offers her. “You’ll like it.” 

Podrick looks nowhere certain, but seeing as he cannot argue, he lays the dish back on the table and, mimicking his mother’s gestures, grabs a pair of chopsticks. 

“You know how to use these?” Sansa leans forward to give him a practical lesson. 

In the meantime, Brienne’s having another discussion altogether when Jaime tries pouring her a glass of wine. He dismisses all of her worries--after all, Sansa, Robb, and Jon had a sip of wine, too, and it wasn’t a crime deserving the death sentence. Although they totally took advantage of his inability to say no to the kids. 

Accepting defeat, they toast silently, and then Brienne dives into the excellent food Jaime presents her with. A small moan of pleasure escapes her lips and Jaime chuckles, resting a hand over her chair. Taking her in, he cannot help but frown, a bit worried over her physical, mental, and emotional state after the turmoil of the past few days. 

“You look tired,” he whispers. Using his fingers to softly caress her back, he tries to convey he’s not criticizing her at all. He’s just worried and wishes he could do more for her. 

“I _am_ tired.” 

At that confession, Jaime’s just about ready to wrap up lunch, leave the restaurant this minute, and send everybody home so Brienne can catch up on some sleep. Reading his intentions, she smiles softly and rests her hand on his knee, so he doesn’t even think about doing any of that. Promising that tiredness is a small price to pay for her father’s recovery, she starts telling him about the tests the doctors ran throughout the morning. 

In the middle of their catching up, the children’s conversation interrupts them. 

“We understand. Our mother used to spend a lot of time at the hospital, too,” Sansa’s saying at that moment, freezing both Brienne and Jaime. He hadn’t listed any taboo subjects, but thought his children would be sensible enough not to mention some key matters. By his side, Brienne holds his hand again, warning him to be cautious and give them all a chance. 

“Hospitals suck,” agrees Arya. 

“Yeah,” nods Podrick, who looks so blue, Jaime’s almost ready to tell his children off. The whole idea of meeting Brienne and Podrick was to cheer them up and distract them from Selwyn’s condition, not making them relive the personal Hell they’ve been in the past few days. “Grandpa has had to stay in the hospital a lot, lately.” 

“It’s tough,” confesses Robb. “But one can get through it. You will, too. We promise.” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” Podrick says, flashing a small smile. 

Disaster adverted, Jaime breathes again. Brienne chuckles but, without saying a word, she returns to her food, and then she and Jaime resume their previous conversation. However, Jaime gives Brienne all of five minutes before changing the subject--he’s supposed to distract Brienne from all those worries, as well. 

“Tell me, how long have you known Margaery for?” 

“Oh, all my life, I suppose.” 

The conversation unfolds easily for a while, up and down the table, as Brienne and Podrick enjoy their food and the Lannister family tries to make sure they’re having a good time with all sorts of jokes. Also, in Brienne’s case, it does not hurt that Jaime keeps refilling her glass of wine. 

Absorbed as he is in their conversation about Brienne’s past and life here in Vienna, Jaime barely has the time or focus for his children. That’s mistake number one, in Brienne’s humble opinion, for he doesn’t realize the over the top formal and polite manners the kids show when, one by one, they ask to be excused from the table. Brienne’s too worried with the chocolate brownie she’s ordered for desserts to point out the fact that, at one point, they’re all alone. 

Not too long after, they hear yelling, roars of laughter, and a fight. It all ends with a big splash of water. Jaime’s second big mistake is not being able to put two and two together when he dismisses Brienne’s worries saying that it must have been some random urchins fooling around. 

He goes on with their conversation, but freezes when Brienne doesn’t. Startled now, he takes a look around and does a quick headcount before jumping to his feet, the chair falling to the ground behind him. Because those ‘random urchins’ are, in fact, his children, which he’d completely forgotten about. But now, hearing their laughter, the splashing water, and the teasing and the jokes, he knows for a fact it’s them. 

“Please don’t tell me,” he begs in a whisper, closing his eyes. 

“I’ll keep quiet, then,” says Brienne, amused voice. 

Turning around, Jaime confirms that Arya has indeed fallen--he hopes to the Forgotten Gods that it _was_ just an accident--on the pond and is being cheered by her siblings, included one very amused Podrick. The smile on that innocent, young man almost makes Jaime forget about the so-well deserved telling off that awaits Arya. 

A waiter approaches, uncertain steps. Jaime knows exactly what he’s been sent to do--the poor man probably drew the shorter stick. 

“Sir--”

“We’ll be leaving right away,” he promises, taking out his wallet. He would like to avoid a lifelong ban on the place, he enjoys the food too much. “Bring the check, please, and feel free to include any extras necessary for my children’s little stunt.” 

Seeing as Jaime’s not in the mood to make light fun out of this, Brienne refrains from making any remarks or jokes about the situation. As Jaime deals with the manager and the appropriate bill to avoid any bigger scenes, Brienne meets the kids and sorts things out thanks to a couple of towels a waitress hands her. 

As to give Arya enough time to dry off, they go to the Belvedere Schlossgarten park. Brienne somehow convinces Jaime to buy ice-creams for everybody instead of scolding them all and Jaime somehow gives in. The kids go scot-free with only a plea from Jaime of not doing that ever again if they want to eat sushi again in that restaurant. 

After all, going back to their usual routine--the kids mess up, he gives them a telling off, the kids hate him for some long weeks while the schedules and martial law is heavier than ever, he leaves them to their own devices, and repeat--isn’t going to solve anything, he knows that now. And the kids wouldn’t allow it, either. Brienne’s taught them better, even though it’s something _he_ should have taught them years ago, at the very least they’ve had someone in their lives who cared for and loved them so much. They know differently now, too, and he knows they would stand up to him if things went array in that frightening direction. 

If he wants any proof, he only needs to see the way they interact with Brienne and how much they enjoy their time with her. All afternoon, just like that morning up in the mountains just before Selwyn’s stroke forced Brienne to return to Vienna, he gets a glimpse of all he’s missed out on for so damned long. The joy Brienne irradiates that passes onto everyone, himself included, after a while. 

They wouldn’t say they’ve had the most boring morning the kids and him--at least, he hopes that’s not what the kids would say--but it’s another experience altogether with Brienne here with them. They spend the afternoon running wild, singing, bursting into dancing, playing hide and seek or peek-a-boo, joking, and goofing around. Podrick’s been lucky enough to have a woman as Brienne for a mother, and Jaime’s just eternally grateful that she’s been a part of their family too, however brief that time might have been. 

“Hey, do you know what someone who gets mad when they don’t have any bread is called? A lack toast intolerant.” 

He tries pitching in with some of his best jokes, but doesn’t even come close, so in the end, he just joins the singing choir group with his harmonica. Since Brienne couldn’t exactly bring her guitar around, the harmonica works out as the musical accompaniment today. 

  
_“Doe,” a deer, a female deer,_  
_“Ray,” a drop of golden sun _  
_“Me,” a name I call myself _  
_“Far,” a long, long way to run _  
_“Sew,” a needle pulling thread _  
_“La,” a note to follow sew _  
_“Tea,” a drink with jam and bread, _  
_That will bring us back to doe! _  


Jaime is, in fact, the one who needs to work on his singing skills, but no one reproaches him for it. He just tries to stay in the back and not spoil anyone’s joy, while getting a kick seeing the kids so happy, so free, so damned ecstatic all afternoon. 

Taking little Brandon, exhausted already, over his shoulders, and stepping under the shade of some trees, Jaime catches Brienne checking the hour, a frown between her eyes. 

“Back to the hospital it is?” he asks. 

She drops her arm to the side immediately, although it’s too late for her to pretend that she’s not worried still about her father’s condition. Jaime understands completely, her duties are towards her father for and foremost now, and phishes his phone to summon Christopher. Putting two fingers inside his mouth, he whistles to catch the kids’ attention and in a matter of seconds, they regroup. 

The plan is simple this time around: with Tyrion informed beforehand, they will drop the kids at the Palais Coburg Residenz first and Jaime and Brienne will head on to the hospital for as long as she wishes to. Once more, Jaime needs to make his kids understand visiting Selwyn is out of the question, not even taking turns to access the ICU in pairs--so many visits will tire the poor man out for sure. The matter’s settled for good when Brienne even denies Podrick the chance of visiting his grandfather again, arguing he needs to have dinner and get some rest. If he cannot go back to the hospital, Jaime’s kids understand they’ve got no right asking to go, too. 

Sitting at the back of the limousine after dropping off the kids, Jaime scoots down the seats to rest by Brienne’s side. They haven’t had a minute alone since the early morning hours and, damn, he’s missed her. He does not miss, however, the scented shampoo her hair smells of and thanks Christopher for giving her a ride back home before they met for lunch. 

As they’d feared, Mr. Tarth’s had a very long and taxing day, which included a trip from the ICU to a shared room. When they get to the second floor, he’s watching a soundless news channel on the TV, a forgotten tray of food by the bed’s side. 

“Dad, weren’t you going to eat anything?” demands Brienne, dropping her bag and pushing the tray closer to the patient’s side. 

“And hello to you too, Brinny. Jaime.” 

“Evening, sir.” The word slips through his lips before Jaime can bite his tongue and Selwyn laughs, realizing now it’s going to be an uphill battle being on first-name terms. 

“How was your afternoon? How’re you feeling?” asks Brienne. 

Jaime stands to one side of the room, trying not to bother father or daughter, knowing it is not his place to mingle. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, he stays quiet as Brienne coaxes her father to take spoon after spoon of a horrifying-looking broth. He makes a mental note to arrange proper meals being cooked and delivered for him according to the diet the doctors recommend, and also to grant Selwyn the intimacy of a private room. Pissing off Brienne the last thing on his mind right now, he postpones the necessary calls, for now, deciding that he’ll do it all later when he’s sure Brienne will be asleep, just as the kids will be. 

Somehow Selwyn manages to finish all that broth and Jaime carries the tray outside, managing with only one hand and the prosthetic. When he returns, Brienne’s caressing her father’s hands warmly, promising him softly that it’s okay if he goes to sleep now, to regain his strength. And he does just that in a matter of minutes. 

“You can go if you want to,” says Brienne then, pulling the blankets up to her father’s chin. 

Jaime steps forward and gives Brienne his jacket, proving that he’s in no hurry at all. Brienne looks up and gives him a tired smile, grabbing his hand as he rests against her chair, staring at the sleeping patient. They’ve gotten reports from Sammy and Christopher all day long and it seems that the doctors are fairly optimistic. Brienne should totally count this as a win. 

About twenty minutes later, Christopher knocks on the door, bringing in some sandwiches and water. 

“We’d truly be lost without you, Chris,” sighs Brienne, accepting her dinner. 

“Not at all, miss,” says the man, bowing by the waist to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. “I can buy you anything else you’d prefer. And I’ve asked the nursed for a couple of spare blankets if you wish to spend the night here.” 

Jaime and Brienne exchange one long look, the former scared, the latter uncertain. She ponders for all of fifteen seconds, checking in on her father. 

“Thank you for all the extra work, but we’re not staying,” she says then. 

She can almost sense Jaime’s relief at her decision. Although he’s been respectful of her needs and wishes up until now, she knows he would have fought her on this one. They truly cannot do anything else for the patient tonight and she does need some sleep, as well. The nurses have all of their contact information in case Selwyn took a turn for the worse overnight. There truly is no need to stay at the hospital for another night of uncomfortable tossing around on the chair without barely getting any sleep. 

“I’ll be downstairs,” says Christopher, pleased at Brienne’s rationality, too. “Whenever you’re ready to go.” 

As his footsteps vanish, Brienne finds herself chuckling. In this case, their destination won’t be home, but one of the most luxurious hotels in the city, where her son has spent a better part of the afternoon with the Lannister kids. If things can get any weirder, she begs the Gods to tell her now before she faints. 

She stands to leave, as not to keep Christopher waiting any longer, but Jaime raises a hand and tells her to sit down again to eat. It’ll just take them five extra minutes they can spend by her father’s side and he knows how much she appreciates every second she’s got with him. He did, after all, with Elsa. And it was just so much excruciating and heartbreaking knowing that they had so limited time to spend together. It was almost as bad an experience as Brienne’s going through currently. 

“Hey,” says Jaime, later in the limousine, as Brienne cuddles by his side. Resting her head against his shoulder, she would close her eyes if she didn’t know she’d fall asleep and no one would be able to wake her up again. “Since you survived Christopher buying some groceries and stuff, I wondered. . . Would you be comfortable with me arranging a better room and facilities for your father?” 

“He’s comfortable the way he is,” she says, as Jaime had expected. 

“It’s not that difficult helping him be a little bit more comfortable.” 

“He’d be the first person to tell you he does not need anything else than what the doctors can provide him with,” Brienne insists, fighting off a yawn. 

“I know, but. . . Why should you be against comfortability, if I can arrange for it?” 

“This is the same debate we’ve had a dozen times, Jaime. You can provide him with it, with your money, but I can’t afford that. And I cannot go around using your money, it’s simply not in my nature to depend on others. So, again, Jaime, I must say thanks, but no, thanks.” 

“We’ll see.” 

His non-committal statement makes Brienne stand to look at his expression, wary eyes. By now, she can say that she knows him well enough to understand and predict his intentions. “You’re going to do whatever you please, aren’t you?” 

“Not exactly,” says Jaime, shrugging. “We’ll see.” 

Dropping the subject, Brienne rests against his shoulder again, certain that she’s not putting her foot down. Certain, also, that her complaints are water off a duck’s back for Jaime. 

They reach the hotel all too soon now, not enough time to doze off. The woman at the reception promises they’ve had no complaints whatsoever regarding the Lannister children and informs them she’s got a message from Tyrion: the kids had dinner and went to sleep at a reasonable hour and so did he, back at the private room he booked, where he hopes he can spend the whole night uninterrupted and safe from babysitting duties. 

Startled, Brienne needs the woman to read the message again to let it sink in. The original idea was to merely pick up Podrick and go back home for the night, not staying at the Palais. 

Easing her worries, Jaime takes her hand, gently dragging her towards the elevators. Behind them stands Christopher, whose orders were to take Brienne and Podrick back home, and follows suit to see what new directions he receives now. 

“Come on, it’s okay. There’s plenty of space for everybody up there,” Jaime argues. 

Upstairs, they completely understand Tyrion turning in for the night. Coming to the hotel for dinner did not put an end or even a damper on the children’s games and excitement, quite the opposite, in fact. The suite has been transformed into a full-out battle station with forts created out of the dining table and the couches--and from where they stand, they assume the bedrooms look even worse. Chairs, pillows, sheets, and blankets placed strategically to create defending positions, plus the lights have been removed and replaced. Jaime knows for a fact he will be charged extra to clean the whole place up. 

Not only the mess, but he’s also worried about, there’s no questioning Tyrion concerning the kids’ dinner, for it seems ice-cream was the only thing they’ve eaten by large amounts. And the children took advantage of every little service the hotel could offer: there are Disney DVDs on the floor, too. For a second, Brienne and Jaime check their watches to calculate if they’d been away for two days and not only a couple of hours. 

“I really need to take Pod home,” says Brienne. They’re still standing at the hall, unable to move, staring at what used to be a perfectly collected and pristine five-star hotel suite. Too tired to even laugh or joke about their kids’ shenanigans. 

“Don’t,” begs Jaime, throwing the room key onto a commode. “He must have been exhausted, let him sleep.” 

Brienne lets herself be dragged by Jaime across the suite, first towards the bedrooms, just to check in on the kids. As if there wasn’t any more space in the suite, all eight children have crashed in the master bedroom. Jon and Robb, being the gentlemen Jaime raised them to be, took the floor, provided by plenty of blankets. Well, correction: Arya did too, and Gendry’s now by her side, although maybe he just fell off the bed at some point. That means that Rickon, Brandon, Sansa, and Pod took the king-sized bed and there’s plenty of space for all four of them, even though Brandon does tend to toss around at night. Judging by their deep breathing, they seem comfortable enough. 

Seeing Brienne’s face, he knows she won’t insist any longer about taking Pod home. After all, she told him he’s had a hard time sleeping, worried sick as he was over his grandpa, and now spending the whole afternoon--and evening, as it seems--with the Lannister children, must have completely tired him out for good. It turns out, all the Tarth family members will finally get a good night’s sleep. 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Jaime whispers, his voice so low only Brienne can hear him. 

“We really need to thank your brother,” sighs Brienne. 

“No, we don't,” says Jaime, closing the bedroom door and grabbing Brienne’s hand to lead her away, lest they risk waking up anyone. “He knows we’re grateful, saying it aloud would only go to his head and, trust me, we do not want that.” 

This time around, he drags Brienne towards the terrace, turning off some lights on their way out. He turns on the outer lights, helps Brienne into a chair, and goes inside again. The minibar must have been the only spot unscathed out of all the suite and he pours two glasses of wine. He then comes back out, carrying them with his good hand, plus his jacket for Brienne, for it is a bit chilly up here so late. They sit down on the outer table, breathing deeply at getting through today, tough enough that Brienne didn’t even argue over that glass of wine this time around. 

At peace after what it seems like a decade, they settle on their chairs, one in front of the other, comfortable in each other’s company. They thank Tyrion for keeping the children’s games out of the terrace. 

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” chuckles Brienne, pointing inside, pointing to their eight children, with her hand. “Seeing what they’ve done with the place. . .” 

“It needed refurbishing either way,” he winks at her. “Plus, d’you think this was prompted by your son alone? Come on, Brinny, had it only been my kids, I would have received complaints from all the guests in the hotel. It’s alright.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

“Well, to be honest,” he says, tilting his head. He’s lowered his voice and, after checking over his shoulders that no kid has popped out of thin air, he leans forward, “if you want to, I would totally be down to having some time alone with you.” 

“Jaime,” chuckles Brienne, shaking her head at the idea. 

“Come on, no one would know. We could lock them up in here for a couple of hours, what’s the big deal? They’ve got our numbers in case they needed anything. And maybe I could just book another room--” 

“Three rooms under the Lannister name? ‘Cause that wouldn’t be over the top or anything.” 

“Fine, then. Maybe your place? I happen to know there’re no parents around and it’s not too far away from here.” 

“You’re crazy, Jaime,” she chuckles, leaning back on her chair and grabbing her wine glass. The greater distance, she hopes, will prevent the man from pursuing the subject. 

Jaime does not pursue the subject anymore, but something in his eye tells Brienne he’s not done with the conversation at all. A mischievous grin on his face, he lays his wine glass on the ground, stands from his chair, and leans on the table, much closer to Brienne now. Allowing Brienne to finish her sip, he then takes her glass and lays it on the table and, before she reaches for it, he cups her chin and kisses her fully on the lips. 

It’s intense, warm, deep, cautious. It’s almost like their first kiss all over again. It is, after all, the first time Jaime dares to give her a proper kiss, not only a small, chastise one on the cheek or the lips to prove that he still loves her and will comfort her and be by her side every step of the way. It’s the first kiss they’ve shared since Selwyn woke up and, by Gods, did they need it. 

Everything else goes away. As if someone had played stop on the world, right then and there, it’s only the two of them, out there on the terrace. They’re not cold, tired, not even worried about the eight kids in there, about Selwyn, Jaime’s company. . . Nothing. It’s just them, the desire, the electricity running through their veins, the fire from each other’s touch. It’s Brienne dragging Jaime to her chair, her hands running through his golden hair and under his shirt, their lips breaking for air, and then Jaime’s lips working down Brienne’s jaw and neck. 

“Crazy for _you?”_ says Jaime, somehow picking up a conversation Brienne was almost forgetting already. “I thought we’d established that long, long ago. I just haven’t had enough time to prove it, honey. We were supposed to have the rest of our lives.” 

“That’s not out of the question just yet,” moans Brienne, her eyes closed, trying to think. They keep saying they’ll get there when they get there, that they just need to take the time to sit down and talk things through, but what’s going to happen then? What possibilities, feasible possibilities, are there for them? Their lives are barely compatible, they’ve got their own responsibilities in Vienna and Salzburg. . . 

Her head spinning, she can barely focus on what Jaime’s hands and lips are doing to her body, nor the thoughts running through her mind. At long last she regains some self-control and some much-needed self-awareness and breaks Jaime’s kiss, regaining control of herself just before she pushes him away. 

“Jaime, this is wrong on so many levels. . . The kids are literally in the next room, for Pete’s sake.” 

The man chuckles and pulls away for good. He was just teasing her from the beginning, she knows that now. Of course, if she’d said yes, he’d have made it happen: booking another room, or going to her place, as he suggested. But that was only wishful thinking, he was not planning on making out, much less having sex, out here, in these circumstances. And now he’s laughing because of the way she put it--the kids are only next door--as if they truly lived together and their children lurking around and demanding their attention narrowed down their possibilities to having sexual relationships. 

Backing away gracefully, he sits back down on his chair, grabbing his wine glass from the floor. 

“Here’s what crazy, though: do you know what sort of a car does an egg drive?” 

“Don’t you dare,” scowls Brienne. With a roll of eyes as Jaime bursts out laughing, leaving Brienne to wonder how much alcoholic beverages has he had all day long, Brienne stands from her chair. Not as pissed off as one would think, she walks up to Jaime and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to sleep.” 

“I asked the janitor to bring you some clothes, they should be at the master bedroom,” says Jaime, taking his jacket. Brienne squeezes her hand on his shoulder, thanking him the gesture, taking care of every possibility whether she stayed or left with Podrick. “Goodnight.” 

As Brienne takes off her shoes and finds her way to the master bedroom, completely drained and exhausted, a soft melody raises behind her. Who else could it be but Jaime’s harmonica, still learning the basics, but that warm and loving melody she cannot name warms her whole system. If she needed any further proof that Jaime has changed, letting music back into his home and into his heart, there it is: Jaime alone on the terrace, so late at night, sitting on his chair, playing into the restful night. He hasn’t been tricked into playing, there are no children around begging him to play, he’s not just accompanying their little singing choir. He took it out and started playing on his own accord, the same way the children sometimes just feel the need to burst into singing to express themselves. 

Almost a minute passes by, Brienne staring at Jaime playing the harmonica, Jaime totally being aware of her staring. In the end, she decides it’s best not to return to the terrace or interrupt his impromptu lullaby for her. A smile on her lips, she turns around towards the bedrooms. 

She cannot stop herself from checking in the kids again--but not even Jaime’s harmonica could wake them up. After she finds her nightgown and a spare bedroom, she knows it’ll take her only a few seconds to join the kids in their beautiful slumber. The soft, melancholy melody still reaches her ears by the time she lays her head on the pillow, half hoping Jaime won’t stay up too late and joins her in bed. But exhaustion is too strong and she’s out of it before she finds out if Jaime ever found his way to her.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more days pass by and everyone needs to settle down and go back to their lives. 
> 
> Also, Brienne and Jaime struggle with making the best decision they could make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support and your patience ! Hope it's worth the wait :D

Every time she opens a cabinet or drawer, she’s surprised, and makes a mental note to thank Christoph all his troubles. . . Again. Of course, the man will just dismiss Brienne’s worries once more, but there's little more she can do but thank the man who took the time to go shopping and refill her almost empty cabinets and fridge. 

Despite being the dead of summer, she makes herself hot cocoa--a drink she loves, but a luxury she rarely ever can afford to buy. It does manage to bring a smile on her lips, despite everything else, despite yesterday. 

Holding the steaming cup in her hands, she leans against the countertop. She’s drunk half of the cup when she catches Jaime, down there on the couch, waking up, willing himself to a sitting position, and muffling a few groans and screams of pain at the same time. She sees him fulfilling the first order of business: check out his cell phone, which must be, again, bursting with texts and phone calls, Brienne guesses. 

Giving him time to figure it all out, she turns around to prepare a cup of coffee for the poor man. He spends a total amount of five minutes on the phone, which leads her to believe he only answered whatever texts he had from Tyrion and his children. 

“Morning,” she greets. 

Still sleepy, he manages to give her a smile as he scoops down the couch to invite her to sit down. She does so and offers him the cup of coffee. 

“I know this isn’t the Palais Coburg Residenz,” she says as he takes the first sip. “But thank you for staying.” 

“Never should have booked that damned room in the first place,” he scowls. “The coffee here is so much better, alas. And the company, of course.” 

He nudges gently against her arm and she drops her gaze--she still hasn’t managed to stop blushing whenever Jaime compliments her. Reclining back on the couch, she tries dragging Jaime with her to be a bit more comfortable, but instead, he leans forward and lays the coffee mug on the table. He then reaches out for his hand and affixes it to his arm and, this time, a grunt does escape his lips. 

“Hold on,” begs Brienne.

Ever so carefully, she holds his hand into hers and stops to gauge Jaime’s reaction. Eyes closed, he’s stopped breathing, and he’s sort of expecting a nasty remark on her part. That’s what he’d hear from Baroness Cersei, she gathers, which is wrong on so many different levels. How could someone blame Jaime for having been maimed so long ago in a military accident? Have people no compassion? 

Minding each of her movements, trying not to hurt him either physically or emotionally, Brienne takes off his hand. Jaime watches intently as she lays the prosthetic on the table, and then takes his stump into her lap. 

“I don’t mind, Jaime,” she says softly. “Wear it, don’t wear it, whatever makes you feel more comfortable. I don’t care.” 

The fact that she’s the first woman in so many years that has spoken those words to him breaks Brienne’s heart. She sees it in the sparkle in Jaime’s eyes, in the way he breathes again and leans against her shoulder. She doesn’t want to speak ill of those who aren’t--well, not dead, yet not there anymore--but if Baroness Cersei could never understand and show compassion towards Jaime’s injury, it seems to her that match wasn’t supposed to last, to begin with. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks, seeing the skin red and irritated. 

“A bit,” he says succinct--proof enough that it does hurt, quite a lot. She kisses his stump and stands. “Brinny, let it be--” 

She shushes him before he wakes Patrick with his complaints, and so Brenne enters Selwyn’s room and returns with aloe vera lotion and some bandages. Jaime’s shoulders drop at that, but he doesn’t speak a word and lets Brienne work. 

As soon as she starts applying the lotion over the sore area, Jaime sighs of relief. She applies a generous amount of aloe vera and massages the stump carefully for a couple of minutes, before bandaging it for good measure. She wipes her hands on a towel, and Jaime’s relaxed face takes a weight off her shoulders as well. 

“Do you have a schedule in mind?” 

“Not really,” sighs Jaime, taking his coffee. They lean back, resting shoulder to shoulder. Brienne reaches her arm around Jaime, and not for the first time since they came to terms with the idea, she wonders if they’ll pull through. “I’m still in two minds about the whole thing.” 

“We talked about this. It’s for the best.” 

It’s been four days since her father woke up, almost a week since she and Jaime came to Vienna together after Selwyn’s stroke, and two days since Jaime sent his kids back to Salzburg. Still, things haven’t settled yet, not by a long shot. How could they, really. Jaime’s got his work to worry about. There’re his children back in Salzburg, who Tyrion is currently taking care of 24/7. There’s Brienne’s father getting better, but not as better as he could be, and the assistance around the clock he’s going to need when he’s released from the hospital. There’s Pod, who’s struggling through the whole situation concerning his grandpa remarkably well, even though he never should have been put in such a situation, without mentioning he’s gotten used to Jaime being around all the time. 

Is everybody going back to their old lives really the best option here? 

“Yes,” nods Jaime, tired. “I suppose it is, isn’t it?”

Before they begin another discussion on the matter uselessly trying to convince each other, they hear rummaging behind them. Podrick has woken up, much earlier than any of them would have wanted, and is now preparing himself a bowl of cereals. 

“Hey, buddy, good morning,” Jaime greets. He stands, giving Brienne time to settle after her kid caught them. . . Doing literally nothing, just sitting on the couch. But still, he meets Podrick at the kitchen, laying his coffee mug on the sink. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in bed for a little while longer?”

“No,” the boy replies stubbornly. 

“Oh, if I were on holiday, I’d sleep till half-past twelve,” sighs Jaime, but he’s unable to distract the boy for long. 

“I want to see grandpa.” 

“Come on, Pod,” Jaime tries to reason. “It’s still early for any visitors. The hospital is sleeping, too.” 

“I want to see him!” he repeats in a yell, slamming his hands on the table with such misfortune that his cereals fall and drip all over the table and floor. Jaime takes a dish towel to try cleaning it up, but of course the boy’s mother makes her appearance, alerted by all the noise.

_“Pod!”_ yells Brienne, shocked. “What in the world did you do?” 

“Will you take me to the hospital with you today?” 

“Honey, I know you’re upset and worried over grandpa, but that does not excuse this!” shrieks Brienne, kneeling by Jaime’s side. She addresses him one look that compels Jaime to stand and leave mother and child alone, knowing this is something he shouldn’t interfere with. “Come and clean this, and then we’ll talk,” Brienne orders. 

The boy complies, albeit grudgingly. He takes the dishtowel Brienne hands him and starts cleaning the mess on the floor. They all understand. Yesterday they took him to see grandpa and jus then and there he suffered a mild tachycardia and passed out right there in front of his family. The doctors pushed them all away until the crisis was averted, but it was too late for Podrick. He hasn’t recovered from the fright, yet. He’s still a child, after all. 

Brienne stays there on the ground to help him, until she sees the tears dripping from his eyes, and she pulls him in. After a while, he lets the fright out and leans against his mother, starting a good cry. 

“Hey, honey,” Brienne kneels by the chair. “I know you’re worried. It’s normal. I’m scared too, scared as hell. But that0s no reason to be rude or to throw away your breakfast, do you hear me?”

She resorts to the only thing she can think of that might help a little bit: singing. 

;   
_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens _  
_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_  
_Brown paper packages tied up with strings _  
_These are a few of my favorite things. _  


Grudgingly at first, Pod ends up joining in, physically unable not to--and she can see how Jaime, leaning against the wall, would like to pitch in too, but he understands this is a mother-child moment, and retreats back to the living room to give them space. It might have something to do with the fact that she’s not yet taught him this song. 

“Come on, we should go buy a nice present for Alexander, don’t you think?” suggests Brienne then, wiping the tears off Podrick’s eyes. 

Since Margaery will stop by the hospital later in the morning to visit Selwyn, Jaime joins Podrick and Brienne--knowing well in advance that Brinny won’t allow him to pay for Alexander’s present. But still, it was better than staying home or worse, going to the office. It’s nice to see a smile appear in Podrick’s lips after checking out the teddy bears on display, despite the argument Jaime and Brienne have at Podrick’s back because Brinny won’t let him buy Podrick any of the teddy bears. In the end, Brinny pays in full a magic set. 

They also walk Podrick to Alexander’s house together for the birthday party that will extend till early in the evening. As Jaime put it, he didn’t want to waste any minute he could spend with Brienne and Podrick. After a brief and awkward round of introductions with Mary, Alexander’s mother, Brienne realizes that rumors will definitely start after today. She doesn’t care--she’ll worry about it all when the time comes--and yet grabs Jaime’s hand while they make their way back to the hospital. They also refused a lift by Christopher, to have a little bit of time to themselves, and to enjoy every last possible minute together. 

In Selwyn’s room, there’s Lena, whom Brienne greets with a firm shake of hands. They’re going to spend a lot of time together from now on, for she’s the only gift Brienne allowed Jaime do for her: hiring a full-time nurse to take care of her father. He also arranged the transportation to take Selwyn home tomorrow morning, but that’s about it. It’s more than she should have allowed him to do, but it’s also so much more than she could ever provide for her father, and that’s all that matters. 

The nurse leaves the room at Brienne’s request, and so she and Jaime sit on the two chairs by the bedside. As Jaime said earlier, he’s in no hurry, so he settles as comfortable as it gets on his chair. He could leave later in the evening, or maybe even tomorrow morning, or the day after. 

Or he could never leave, a little voice reminds him. For Brienne’s sake, for Brienne’s father sake, for Podrick. . . He could stay with them. They might be able to figure out a way to make things work, what with his job and his kids. 

A small part of Brienne would like for him to reconsider and stay, albeit she was the first one to insist on him going back home to his children. She knows he would more than likely stay if she asked, but that would be wrong. It’s not that she wants Jaime to reach that decision himself. It’s more on the lines that they haven’t had much time to discuss things, to make any sorts of vows or promises or commitments, and that means that they both have their own duties to fulfill, places to be, things to arrange. It’s life, after all. 

Jaime stays there for two hours, which is two hours more than social convention forced him to, but they both enjoy a good game of staring at each other and blushing, alright. He’s also tried to lighten the mood with a few of his jokes, but they’re so lame that they didn’t even get a roll of eyes from Brienne, and he soon runs out of jokes--for today, Brienne fears. Knowing him, if he stayed, he’d deliver a handful of those jokes daily and her nerves just couldn’t take it. Maybe there are some silver linings about him leaving. 

When he checks the clock and sighs, rubbing his eyes, Brienne knows that the spell has been broken. That the strange dream--a dream within a nightmare, what with being here at home with Jaime, and her father’s condition--has ended. She stands at the same time as Jaime, who approaches the bed, grabbing Selwyn’s hand. 

“Mr. Tarth?” Jaime asks softly--will never get used to addressing him on a first-name basis. 

Brienne’s father opens his eyes at hearing his name, and even turns his head towards the source of the voice, but gives no indication that he’s listening or understanding a thing. Still, Jaime gives it his best shot, without listening to Brienne, who was about to ask him to let Selwyn rest. 

“I apologize, but I have to leave. I’ll see you very soon, and you better not cause your daughter any more worries, do you understand?” he says. 

The patient barely reacts to Jaime’s words, and now Jaime does give up. He pats Selwyn’s hand, retreats to take his jacket from the chair, and follows Brienne outside for a proper goodbye. He didn’t have any with Podrick, because what would even be the point? To him, Jaime was only a good friend of his mother who stayed over for a few days while her father was feeling unwell. No point in giving explanations that would confuse the boy, or putting unnecessary labels to things not even Jaime nor Brienne know what they are. 

“Well, have a safe trip,” says Brienne, crossing her arms around her. 

“I’ll see you very soon, too,” promises Jaime in a whisper. “Call me if you need anything, or if there’s any problem with Lena or--” 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve arranged everything down to the last letter,” she interjects, fearing a five-minute worried rant about all the things that can go wrong concerning her father still. “I will call if there’s something you should know.” 

A tortured expression on his face, Jaime brings his hand to her cheek, and she leans on that touch. She is heartbroken, and it pisses her off. She’s never needed a man by her side, she’s managed all by herself since she was a teenager. While it’s true Jaime’s presence here in Vienna has helped her a lot these past few days, she doesn’t need him--he’s not her oxygen or water. 

But maybe she _wants_ him to stay. Is that so selfish? Is that so immature? 

The look on Jaime’s face almost compels her to speak her mind, to ask the question she knows for a fact she cannot demand of him. It almost seems that he wants her to ask him, too. However, her courage fails her at that moment of all times, and her opportunity slips away. 

“Let me know when you get home. And give your children my best,” she says in the end. 

“Will do,” he nods--as disappointed a person as she is in the words that have left her mouth. He caresses her cheek with his thumb, not knowing what else to do or say, now just delaying the parting and breaking her heart. “Well. . . Hope to see you again real soon, Brinny. Take care of yourself and your father.

“Bye.” 

_Is that it?_ she almost scowls, biting her lip just in time. For lack of a proper farewell, the kiss he gives her couldn’t even be considered a kiss. It’s too soft, too brief, and he runs away before she can attempt to hold him back. As she sees him disappearing around the corner, feels her cheeks moist, and angrily she wipes the tears off her eyes, the word ‘stay’ at the tip of her tongue. But she cannot ask him that, and she’s not strong enough either, and so she just stands there, watching the man she loves walk out of her life with barely a fight from her. 

She stays there for a few seconds before returning to her father’s room, where she does allow herself to have a good cry. Her father does not wake up to comfort her, either, and through her tears, she sings the song she sang with Podrick hours earlier, the one song she knows her father would sing with her if he could, too. 

Her eyes dry at some point and she checks her phone, but she’s got no texts or missed phone calls--Jaime is barely halfway to Salzburg. 

Around four o’clock, she picks up her jacket and her purse. On the other chair, Lena, who had been silently keeping her and Brienne’s father company while reading through a magazine up until now, stands as well. 

“You can go, Miss Tarth,” she says, the title making Brienne shiver. “I’ll let you know if there are any developments.” 

“Thank you,” Brienne appreciates. 

Before she leaves the hospital, she stops at the cafeteria to eat something, for today she hasn’t enjoyed the usual kindness from Jaime or Christoph and has only survived trough coffees all day long. While she devours a sandwich and a Coke, she can’t help but look around and ponder how many other customers are here just making time while waiting for news on beloved friends and family members. She learned the drill when she was still a teenager, but hospitals are truly a dreadful place. 

Hoping her humor will improve throughout the afternoon, she pays her bill and leaves to pick Pod up from Alexander’s. She does feel a little better seeing her son playing with all his friends and laughing just like everybody else, having the chance of having fun, even throwing a tantrum at her picking him up so soon. Unable to cut his joy short, Brienne accepts a tea from Mary. 

Their conversation at the kitchen is brief and doesn’t go beyond the surface. Mary does know about her father being at the hospital and offers Brienne any help she might need, and she thanks her for it, albeit knowing that should anything happen, Mary won’t be her first call, not even her tenth. She does appreciate Mary not mentioning Jaime at all, for Brienne wouldn’t know how to answer her--she’s not even certain she wouldn’t just start to open up and pour her whole heart out right there and then. There’s no point. They’ve made a decision and need to see it through. They’ll both survive. 

However, she’s well out of her comfort zone when Podrick himself asks where Mr. Lannister is, when she can finally convince the toddler to leave the party. 

“Well, he had to go home,” says Brienne. 

“Salzburg?” 

“That’s right. Remember, he’s got children there too, and a life of his own there.” 

“I don’t understand. Why did he come here, then?”

Dammit, Jaime left all of Podrick’s questions to her, she realizes now. She’s not really in the mood to talk about Jaime with Podrick, but she knows it’s going to be worse if she tries to nip his interrogation in the bud. Taking a deep breath to soothe her nerves, and maybe to stop the tears from spilling, she measures her words. 

“He came to support us and help us while grandpa was at the hospital,” she says. Well, she only needs to say ‘we’re just friends’ and she’ll have used every conceivable lie on her son. What else was she supposed to say? She’s trying to convince herself, too, here. 

“But grandpa’s not out of the hospital yet.” 

“As I said, he couldn’t stay any longer. He’s got other obligations back home.” 

He ponders her answer and seems to understand, finally, able and ready to give her a break. . . For about ten seconds. “But I thought you were together! Aren’t you supposed to, you know, _live_ together? Wasn’t that what was going on?”

“Pod, you know I first went to Salzburg to work for Mr. Lannister, don’t you?” she tries to reason. “To take care of his children for the summer holidays?” 

“And still he was living with us these past days?” he retorts. Blushing, Brienne walks faster, trying to get away from the many unknown citizens that may have heard Podrick. The last thing she needs is half of Vienna knowing about him and Jaime. If rumors spread, it wouldn’t be too good for his company, either, she guesses. 

“As I said, he’s been trying to help us.” 

They finally reach home and Brienne breathes a little bit better as he helps Pod out of his sweater. 

“Come here,” she says, pointing at the living room, to finish he conversation. Pod follows her and they sit down on the couch. Her embarrassment was never because she didn’t want to talk about Jaime with Podrick, albeit she cannot give him all the answers he’s asking for, but mainly, the fact that they were discussing her love and private life very openly in a public space. “Mr. Lannister stayed here as long as he did a personal favor to me. But he has responsibilities back at home, just like I have mine here, and he was never going to stay forever, honey.”

“Then, we won’t live together?” 

This is exactly what she was afraid of--giving Pod false hope. She sighs, regretting the moment she wasn’t strong enough to stop Jaime from joining her to Vienna. Pod has always yearned tor a father figure, like any kid raised by his single mother would do, and Jaime fulfilled that role marvelously in the week he spent here with them. 

She could almost blame herself, too, now that she thinks about it. If she hadn’t met Jaime, if she hadn’t helped him too. . . Helped him see reason, see what he was missing, understand where was he misguided and learn right from wrong all over again, he never would have come here, and he’d never have been a father figure for Podrick. She’s not saying Jaime could have kept living on all his life as the dickhead she met on her first day, but him being selfish and oblivious, in this particular scenario, would have helped out more, perhaps. 

Oh, she’s just lying to herself, now, she scowls, trying to sort out her thoughts. Him staying by her side these past few days was a blessing. She would have gotten through it all as usual, of course, but knowing that this time around she didn’t have to weather it all alone made all the difference. 

“He cannot come here with all his children, and I cannot go there,” she settles. 

“Why not?”

Brienne freezes. Even though she and Jaime have had this same conversation many times these past few days, they never mentioned the question of ‘why’. The fact that he had his life in Salzburg and her, hers in Vienna was indisputable, and all their arguments ended there. Neither of them could travel across the country, dragging their children with them. 

“He’s got a very important job there, his whole life is in Salzburg. For me, it’s you and grandpa I’m supposed to take care of, and then there’s also my job. . .” 

“But you’re not working now,” Pod interjects. 

“It’ll be a matter of time before I find something.” 

“Couldn’t you find something else in Salzburg, then?” 

“Pod!” she sighs. Knowing he’s stepped out of line, the kid remains silent, as Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming in, and that Podrick’s trapping her with all his questions, pushing her buttons today. “We cannot go to Salzburg, honey. Don’t you realize what’re you saying? Us moving to Salzburg? You’d have to leave your school, all your friends--” 

“School here is boring,” he shrugs. “And I liked Mr. Lannister’s children, they were so kind and funny. It’d be like having siblings. Seven siblings, no less! It could be fun; it could be like one of our adventures!” 

“Podrick, for the moment, no one is moving nowhere, okay?” says Brienne in the end, raising her voice involuntarily. “I’m sorry to say this, but you and the Lannister kids had no say in the matter. It was Mr. Lannister and me, the adults, the ones who had to decide, and the conclusion was that we weren’t going to change all our lives. That’s the end of it.” 

She’s always hated using the ‘because I said so’ card against Podrick, knowing that if one shoots down a child’s curiosity once, he will never again show genuine interest in anything, but this time she needs to use such a card. It was becoming too difficult to have this conversation with her son, so she just sends him to shower. 

Sometime during Brienne’s own shower, Margaery shows up at their doorstep and the three of them have dinner together. Per Podrick’s insistence, Brienne calls Lena to know if there has been any news on Selwyn’s condition, but the answer is negative, and so Podrick cannot delay bedtime any longer. Despite everything else, she accompanies him to their room and reads him until he falls asleep. Tomorrow, unless Selwyn has a bad night at the hospital, they’ll start to share the room again. Brienne prays to all the Forgotten Gods there is no bad news throughout the night. Her nerves couldn’t bear it. 

Arguing she’s got work to do, Margaery doesn’t stay long, and she even refuses the glass of wine Brienne was about to pour for her. Deep down, Brienne appreciates Margaery not staying over for a late-night chitchat. If she was going to bring Jaime up again, Brienne would have thrown a tantrum. Margaery would have thrown at her the same questions Podrick did and Brienne couldn’t have shot her friend down with a “because I say so.” She cannot deal with any more worries and conundrums tonight. She’s struggled all day long not to let emotions get the better of her and is not going to lose that battle right now. 

Well, that’s all nice and good, but it’s getting difficult, at this time. All alone in her apartment, Podrick sleeping, her computer taking its sweet time to turn on, she misses Jaime more than at any other moment throughout the day. For the past few days, despite Jaime’s room booked at the Palais Coburg Residenz, he stayed home with them--possibly the reason why they got Podrick all confused and worried today. And this, right here, after having dinner and putting Pod to sleep, was her and Jaime’s moment of privacy and quiet. 

She would pour them both a glass of wine, they’d sit on that awfully uncomfortable couch in the living room, and spend hours on end talking. . . The minutes and hours would go by on the clock and they wouldn’t care, talking about their lives, their dreams, anything at all. They also used to make out a little bit, never going too far to respect Podrick sleeping just a few feet from the couch. Brienne blushes at the memory, but that’s not all she’s missing about those late-night conversations. 

Half-finished with her wine glass, her phone rings, and a small smile brightens Brienne’s face when she checks the caller ID. It’d seem Jaime’s missing those late hours just as much as she is and is now calling to make it up for them. 

“Hey, you,” she says. 

“Hey,” he sighs deeply, sounding incredibly exhausted--was it work or the children the thing that drained Jaime’s energy so much today? She worries he won’t tell her either way. “I miss you.”

Such a confession right off the bat makes Brienne chuckle, because it’s nothing but the truth, for her, as well. “Yeah, me too.”

“Your father?” 

“No news, yet. Lena’s taking good care of him.” 

“As he should,” nods Jaime. 

“How’re the children?” asks Brienne, genuinely concerned for those seven children. 

“Oh, they’re alright. They miss you so,” says Jaime softly. “They wanted you here so badly. I’d warned them you’d stay in Vienna, and still, after I left the car, they’d barely greeted me, that they were already asking about you. They were this close to chastise me for leaving you, and I’m not sure yet they won’t put me back in the car come morning.” 

“Well, were you expecting hugs and kisses?” she chuckles, but she changes the subject right away: after so many cold returns from his trips where his children barely acknowledged him, he could have expected a warmer welcome. “If it helps, Podrick misses you too. We’ve had a long discussion on why you couldn’t stay longer.” 

“Sorry I wasn’t there to answer all of those questions,” he says, genuine. 

“I promise you, you wouldn’t have survived his interrogation, this time,” chuckles Brienne. 

“You’re probably right,” nods he at the other end of the line, sighing deeply. 

“You should have heard him--he was almost as ready to drop out of school and drive us all to Salzburg himself. He almost convinced me that us living together was a possibility.” Brienne wanted to spare Jaime the conversation they’ve had, but she simply had to come forward. For a split second, it almost seemed possible. . . 

“Well, maybe we should listen to our children more,” jokes Jaime, although Brienne can hear his wandering thoughts, too. Is it wishful dreaming for her, or would it be feasible, if they both got down to it? “He’s so smart, I wonder where he got that from.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” says Brienne, feeling the colors rush to her cheeks. 

“Oh, you’ve got to ask me where I am.” 

“Where?” she complies, bemused, thanking the change of subject, too. 

“In your chambers.” 

As strange as it is given everything else happening in her world, Brienne laughs out loud this time and then checks over her shoulder she didn’t wake Podrick up. She takes another sip of her wine. 

“I raise you: I’m on your couch.” 

“Bloody teenagers, that’s what we are,” scowls Jaime, sounding appalled at their response from being apart after only a few hours. They’re missing each other so much, it’s almost physically painful. Was a separation the best thing for them all? 

“Yes, we’re kind of a mess,” agrees Brienne. Tired of the aching on her back, she pulls up to a sitting position. “But we’re going to see the light of day, I believe.” 

“Oh, absolutely.” 

For a few seconds, there's only silence on both ends of the line, but neither Brienne nor Jaime feels awkward at all. Comforted by each other’s presence, just like those past nights, none feel the urge to fill in the silence. 

“I need to wake up early tomorrow,” says Jaime after a while, knocking Brienne out of her daze. 

“Yeah, me too. We’re bringing my father home.” 

“I remember. Call me if you have a spare minute.” 

“Will do.” 

“Goodnight, Miss Tarth,” he bids farewell in the formula they used back in the manor, when she left in the evening to put the kids to sleep. The reminiscing makes Brienne smile, too. 

“Good night, Mr. Lannister.” 

After hanging up the phone, Brienne finishes her drink and steps into her father’s room. She hasn’t yet had the time to collect her things and prepare the room for her father’s return, or maybe she just didn’t dare to do it. She’s scared stiff about her father returning, fearing that she’s failing him, and also Podrick, and the Gods know who else. This whole thing is a freaking mess. Selwyn hasn’t recovered fully yet and, despite the doctor’s and Sammy’s promises, she’s not so sure he should leave the hospital so soon. Jaime hasn’t been gone for a day and she’s missing him already. Not even Podrick seems happy with the way they’ve pulled the plug; she knows that one of these days he’s going to present her with a chart and a spreadsheet with possibilities of how to deal with joined lives, complete with the pros and cons of every single option. And she might not be strong enough to say no that time around. 

_It’s going to be difficult surviving this, _ she sighs, leaning against the threshold. Selwyn’s recovery will be longer and harder than any other, and not only medically speaking. 

She’s standing right there again twelve hours later, watching over Lena and two more medical members carrying Selwyn into their apartment on a stretcher. Brienne’s heart breaks every time a groan escapes her father’s lips whenever a bad movement hurts him. Still, she puts on a brave smile for her father and Podrick, whom she’s holding tightly against her side, to keep him from bothering the nurses as well. 

“Thank you,” Brienne appreciates when Selwyn’s properly settled on the bed, knowing first-hand the struggles. “Can I offer you a coffee or any other beverage?” 

“Thanks, but no thanks. That’s very kind of you,” the man replies. He stops for a second to shake Brienne’s hand, the woman even kneels to give Podrick a handful of sweets, and then they’re on their way out. 

That’s when Podrick and Brienne step into the room to check in on Selwyn too. Lena’s settling in too, dropping a travel bag by the armchair, and assessing the room barely appropriate that Selwyn will be locked in for the foreseeable future. Selwyn’s breathing ragged, it would seem he’s having a hard time finding a comfortable position on the bed. 

“Grandpa?” 

At that, Selwyn opens his eyes and forces a smile for his grandson. 

“Hello, honey,” he greets, reaching a hand. “Come closer, don’t be scared, come on.” 

Very carefully, Pod steps forward and sits on the edge of the bed, holding onto his grandfather’s hands, without knowing what to do or say. This is always the hardest part, having Selwyn back home so soon, the fright all too recent in their minds, fearing that he could have a relapse at any second. At least having Lena here should make things easier--Brienne won’t be forced to be on watch guard 24/7, she’ll be much rested for her family when she’s truly needed, and in the meantime, she can work on finding a job to support them all. Because she refused Jaime paying off Lena’s wages indefinitely. 

“Oh, it’s good to be home,” Selwyn sighs, interrupting Brienne’s trail of thoughts. He’s putting up an act, of course, looking around at the room he clearly hadn’t missed. But it’s all part of the routine in the family, lying and pretending. “I’ve missed you. Now, tell me about that boy’s birthday party. I heard there was a clown involved?”

If he was planning on Podrick jumping off the bed and running back to his room out of excitement to tackle down some of his questions on the universe, both Selwyn and Brienne are both disappointed. Pod does not budge, biting his lower lip. Lena doesn’t help, either. 

“He really should rest,” she says. 

“You shut up and let me be,” scowls Selwyn. 

“Dad!” shrieks Brienne, all flustered and worried--they’re not off to a great start. Selwyn hates hospitals and doctors on a general basis and it’s no wonder he should hate Lena, too, but he must make some concessions. They need her. 

“I haven’t been home for days and haven’t had quality time with my grandson,” insists Selwyn, stubborn. “You will give me some minutes with my family and, if you cannot live with that, please go make yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen.” 

For a second, it seems Lena would like to argue, but after pondering her chances, she excuses herself and leaves the room. Putting on a smile, Selwyn looks back at Podrick. 

“I don’t want to fluster you and hurt you again.” 

“And you won’t,” Selwyn promises softly, patting on his hand. “Tell me, where’s that notebook of yours with all those questions about life and the universe? Go pick it up, come on. A few questions could never hurt me, right?” 

With that, Pod does now leave the room, and runs off to their bedroom, Lena giving them plenty of time to spend alone. Seizing the chance, Brienne steps forward too, pushing some flocks of hair away from Selwyn’s eyes. 

“Don’t you want to rest, Dad?” 

“Oh, please, Brinny! I’ve done nothing _but_ resting for the past days. Let me have a little fun with my grandson, will you?” 

“Fine, I’ll stop,” says Brienne, raising her hands in the air. 

“Better question is: has Mr. Lannister truly left for good?” 

“Oh, not you too,” Brienne scowls this time around, rolling her eyes. “I will give you as much time with Podrick as you want and fight Lena about your meals and bedtime in exchange of you not bringing up Mr. Lannister ever again.” 

“Come on, it was an innocent and genuine question. I thought he was here to stay.” 

“Well, he wasn’t. We--”

At that moment they hear two sounds that nip all their arguments about Selwyn’s need for resting and Mr. Lannister in the bud: first, keys turning in the front entrance lock; and at the same time, Podrick’s rushed footsteps coming their way. But, as the door pries open, Pod stops and gasps. 

“Mr. Lannister!” 

“What--?” whispers Brienne, frowning in shock. _It cannot possibly be. _

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Salzburg?” yells Podrick, way more excited for the visit than those questions on his book. 

On his bed, Selwyn just laughs, repositioning the pillows. “Well, your son has found someone much more interesting to entertain him.” 

“Hey, kiddo, it’s nice to see you again!” says Jaime, whose voice sounds all too happy and excited despite his impromptu visit and all the other circumstances. “I missed you too, buddy. Is your mother around?” 

Waving at her father to stay in bed, Brienne leaves the room, freezing on the doorstep at seeing Jaime in the flesh, Podrick in his arms. She hopes she’s still dreaming or that they’re all victims of a collective hallucination--for Lena, standing in the living room, can also see and hear Mr. Lannister. 

After two seconds, Brienne concludes it truly must be him. He’s there, his golden hair, his missing hand, his three-piece suit all wrinkled now. But him being back here in Vienna raises more questions than it answers. To get here so early in the morning, they must have left Vienna in the middle of the night, even if he took his private jet. 

Why would he bother? Why is he back? Why hasn’t he texted her in advance, so she could be prepared, so she could prepare Podrick and her father? What is he up to? What excuse did he give his children and Tyrion to come back to Vienna after sending his children out to Salzburg only two days ago? 

What in the world is going on here? 

“Hello, Brinny,” he greets her softly, snapping her out of her stupor. She can’t, however, find any coherent words just yet. 

Failing to read the tense and shocked atmosphere, Podrick was still hanging from Jaime’s neck, welcoming him in a manner he’s not even used to from his own kids. At that moment, Jaime pats Podrick on the back and leans, letting his feet fall onto the ground floor once more. 

“Give us a minute, will you?” he begs. “Could you prepare me something to eat? I woke up kind of early and skipped breakfast.”

“Okay,” nods Podrick, exchanging one look with his mother. He understood that he’s blatantly being dismissed, leaves the hall towards the kitchen without saying a word, giving Brienne and Jaime some privacy. 

As soon as they’re all alone in the small hall, provided that nurse Lena knew she needed to make herself scarce, too, Jaime looks up at Brienne and flashes that tilted smile that makes her knees go weak. He hasn’t been gone for that long, for the Forgotten Gods, is it possible to have missed him so much? When did she become this unrecognizable teenage girl again? 

The man walks up to her and Brienne tries to step back, but she’s got no way out: she hits the wall and is unable to move. 

“Jaime, what’re you--?” she tries asking as he gets closer and closer. She doesn’t get to finish the whole question before his lips crash into hers, and whatever coherent words she’d managed to muster go out the window again. Without her permission, her hands cross around Jaime’s neck, pulling him closer, sinking into his golden hair, and she seems barely able to remember that her son and father are only a few feet away. 

Her brain can only focus on one thing and one thing alone: _Jaime is back._ Apparently, that’s all that matters, here and now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, Jaime sees reason and makes the right choice here: coming back to Brienne. Hope you liked the chapter !


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime returned to Vienna with one goal and one goal only: to take Brienne back to Salzburg. 
> 
> On the car drive, Brienne and Jaime make use of their time alone to share some stories and reminiscence :D

_“Come on, Brinny. You said your son had it all figured it out. If a toddler could, how can’t we?” _

After Jaime showed up at the apartment, Brienne sent Podrick to spend a few minutes with her father and she pushed Jaime into the living room, so he could explain his impromptu visit back in Vienna. He had to explain himself three times, up to a point where he almost gave her a minute-by-minute account of the events. 

He hadn’t denied to Brienne for a second being in two minds about returning to Salzburg and leaving her all alone to take care of her father and son. As soon as he got out of the car in the Lannister Mansion and the kids all asked about her and Selwyn and Podrick, he started to regret the decision altogether. And not even thirty minutes later, after he’d gotten caught up with his children, he was already thinking about climbing back into the car. 

The conversation with Brienne, where they both had confessed they missed each other, only confirmed his idea. 

Jaime waited until dinner, however. He had to check in with Tyrion to know if he was comfortable enough spending two more days with his nephews and nieces. And then he had to sit down and talk with the kids--asking their opinion and thoughts this time around, instead of just deciding by himself without taking them into account. He didn’t want them to feel cast aside or abandoned again and considered best to explain. . . 

Only, there was no explaining to do. The kids felt the same way as Jaime did and if they hadn’t been so afraid of him still, they would have chastised their Father the minute he got out of the car without Miss Tarth and her family. And, well, they did have their chance: they almost whisked their Father from the table and dragged him across the Manor and into the car. In the end, he was able to talk some sense into the children: it was too late for poor Christoph for a trip. 

The extra night gave him time to get things in order within the household with Franz and Frau Schmidt, who were to contact the local hospital in the morning, and also to take care of some meetings he was supposed to attend the next day--the kids would never allow him to stop by the office, they would accompany him in the car to make sure. It was a good thing Jaime had instructed Franz not to unpack his bag, in retrospect. 

Not that he needs any change of clothes. He’s not staying in Vienna, or perhaps just a night, at the most, to give Brienne and her family time, too. Somehow, he’s managed to convince Brienne and. . . Thirty-six hours after Jaime’s return, a few discussions later, many arrangements and phone calls made, here they are. 

Standing outside the apartment, seeing Selwyn being taken by medical officers on a stretcher for the second time in as many days, but now he’s being taken into the ambulance, not out of it. In the meantime, Christoph is carrying their bags to the trunk of the limousine. 

She’s terrified. Petrified. Horrified. Shocked. Of course, she cannot show any of those feelings in front of Podrick and Selwyn, for she would never forgive herself--she’s the one dragging them both across the country, she’s the one not supposed to have any doubts about the idea. And so, she’s putting up her best poker face, although, at the same time, she’s holding tightly onto Jaime’s arm, nearly clawing her nails on his skin through the shirt. It makes Jaime smile and he chuckles at her nervousness every time he looks up at her, but the thing is, she’s still a bit, or maybe a lot, uncertain. 

All in all, the plan was wonderfully and marvelously simple, and it went along the lines of Podrick’s own plan: Brienne, her father, and her son were to move to Salzburg. Not only that, but they were to move to the Manor Lannister with Jaime and his children. 

When Jaime suggested it, sitting on that forsaken couch in the living room, Brienne burst out laughing so loudly that Podrick and even Lena came out to see if everything was okay. After reassuring them and asking for a few more minutes of privacy, Jaime showed that he was serious and that he’d given it deep thought by asking a single question in return: was there any other hindrance apart from them not being an official item just yet? 

The only thing that came to mind was Podrick’s school and friends. Then again, they could enroll Pod in the best of schools in Salzburg, and Podrick had expressed just the day before that moving cities wouldn't be a nightmare, more like an adventure, a blessing in disguise. Brienne herself doesn't have a job to worry about that keeps her in Vienna, she wi be able to find a job in Salzburg, and her friendship with Margaery and Olenna would certainly survive the separation. She knew without asking her father that, albeit he was born and raised in Vienna, he couldn’t care less about recovering from the operation in Vienna or Salzburg, especially if that difference would mean so much for her in the first place. 

As per Jaime and his family, well, things were certainly easier. The kids would love to have Brienne back, they miss her incredibly so, and they already knew about Podrick and Selwyn and were looking forward to meeting them both, hence, it wasn’t even a question. 

So, Jaime asked again: apart from him and Brienne not being an official item just yet, were there any other problems? Brienne had to agree that there weren’t, not exactly, as long as Jaime understood she wasn’t going to move to Salzburg for free and would start looking for a job the minute they walked through the door. At that, he beamed and kissed her. 

“If that’s the condition so we can live together and not three freaking hundred miles apart, so be it,” he said. 

They kissed again, then hugged for the longest time, and while she was in his arms again--a warm and comforting touch she’d missed in the past twenty-four hours--she realized what had just happened. Again, she burst out laughing, and as Jaime pulled back to question what had set her off this time, she went scarlet red. 

_This makes it official after all, then, _ she reminds herself, looking down at Jaime. He hasn’t been able to stop smiling since yesterday, either. Just like Selwyn, and Podrick, as they spent the afternoon preparing their bags. Not that they’re carrying that much--clothes, Podrick’s favorite books, and toys, Selwyn’s medications. 

Needless to say, there hasn’t been time to settle everything in Vienna, and they haven’t completely emptied the apartment, just in case. Brienne wants to give Podrick and her father a trial period, in case something went wrong and they didn't fit in the Lannister’s lives. Maybe Selwyn’s condition worsens--although Jaime has already spoken to the best doctors in Salzburg and they’ve received Selwyn’s medical history. Podrick might not like his new school, he might not like going from being an only child to having seven brothers and sisters. It’s so rushed, there’re so many things that can go wrong, that Brienne is not, for the moment, putting the apartment on sale or rent. 

“Come on,” says Jaime, now that Selwyn has been taken into the ambulance, nudging for Brienne to step first into the limousine. 

“Pod,” she calls out. 

The boy has spent the last few minutes saying goodbye to Margaery, Olenna, and a handful of friends from school--the same friends who had an impromptu sleepover at Alexander’s last night, upon hearing the news of Podrick leaving the city and not returning next school year.

Jaime does feel bad for the poor boy, but the boy hugs his friends one last time and then follows them into the limousine without a complaint or shedding a single tear. The whole scene also makes Jaime understand that Podrick has had to endure a lot in his short life, made tons of compromises on behalf of his grandfather, and to help his mother around the house, and this is almost like another check on the list. 

“We’re ready, I believe, Christoph,” says Jaime when they climb into the limousine and he shuts the door behind them. 

“Alright, sir,” nods the chauffeur. 

Brienne holds onto Jaime's hand as Christoph drives off, slowly leaving behind their apartment. It’s not insecurity towards this new part of their life, albeit she’s still got some concerns. It’s not a feeling of homesick towards the only place she’s ever called home, although that does factor in. Actually, she’s fuzzing with excitement. 

_No, it’s something else,_ she reckons. _I’ve always longed for adventure, to do the things I’d never dared, and here I’m facing adventure._ Terrifying as it sounds, but she’s doing it with Jaime, and she’s got the utmost confidence in the man. Strange as it is, given how much she hated and loathed him just a few weeks ago. 

After they’ve driven three or four blocks away from the apartment, the ambulance trailing behind, Jaime looks at her. 

“You good?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she says, a knot in her throat. 

Jaime raises an eyebrow and waves with his head. On the seats in front of them, Podrick has fallen asleep. It didn’t take him ten minutes--guessing he didn’t get much sleep last night with his friends, playing games and watching movies all night long. Brienne slithers through the seats, trying not to be too noisy over the leather. Jaime, understanding Brienne’s intentions, hands her his jacket, and she covers Podrick with it. She also takes one of their travel bags for Pod to use it as a pillow, and checks on the seatbelt before she returns to Jaime’s side. 

For some minutes, the two just stare at Podrick sound asleep there, the limousine engine his lullaby, the tainted glass windows making it impossible for the sun to bother and wake him up from his nap. Somehow, seeing him resting as peacefully as he is, means the confirmation that they’re doing something right. 

  
_Perhaps I had a wicked childhood _  
_Perhaps I had a miserable youth _  
_But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past _  
_There must have been a moment of truth. _  
_For here you are, standing there, loving me _  
_Whether or not you should. _  
_So somewhere in my youth or childhood _  
_I must have done something good. _  
_Nothing comes from nothing, _  
_Nothing ever could. _  
_So somewhere in my youth or childhood _  
_I must have done something good. _  


Brienne joins him right away--it was her song, after all, but it was just so fitting, Jaime couldn’t stop himself. They sing in whispers, their voices mixing together, adjusting to each other’s rhythm, and breathing. Jaime didn’t comprehend before, couldn’t fathom the idea, but he now understands why his children and Brienne oftentimes just feel like bursting into song. On occasions, it’s just the right thing to do. 

When they finish the song, they look at each other in the eye, smile radiantly, and kiss. Brienne rests her arm around Jaime’s shoulders, and he entwines his fingers on her hair--she noticed yesterday that Jaime didn’t even bother wearing the prosthetic on his right arm. 

“I’m scared,” says Brienne in the relative privacy of the car. 

At that confession, Jaime hugs her tighter with both arms, kissing her hair. 

“I know,” he says. Acknowledging her fears and sharing them instead of waving them all away. “I am, too. I had never planned. . . I’d never predicted I’d be here, dragging the woman I love, as well as her son and father, across Austria to my city and my Manor.” 

Brienne’s silence confirms Jaime’s words. No, this isn’t an outcome she’d envisioned for herself and her family when she abandoned them at the beginning of summer holidays to take care of the seven children of an old sea captain in Salzburg. The family’s going to grow exponentially in just a matter of days, which means their worries and troubles are going to grow exponentially, as well. Are they ready for that? 

“I just realized,” says she after some long minutes, “this is going to be the closest thing we’ll have for intimacy in a possibly very long time.”

Sighing deeply, Jaime caresses her arms, pulling her against his side. 

“Yeah, that came to me too. Do you think we might use this time to, maybe. . . Talk?”

The idea seems to intrigue Brienne, as she turns to look at him with a crooked smile. 

“You mean, have a real talk?” she asks. 

It’s not as if they haven’t talked about many subjects these past few days, after all, but she gets what he meant. He confirms so with a sound of his throat. They’ve talked and discussed their future at great length, but there’re still so many things about each other’s past they don’t yet know. They were supposed to have. . . 

“Things we would have liked to say that morning, had we had the time,” he confirms. “I had things to share, too. If you want to.”

In his arms, Brienne smiles. “It wouldn’t be appropriate to hide things from you at this point, would it?”

With a smile, he cups her cheek and kisses her softly, deeply, the way he hasn’t kissed her in days, because they just haven’t had the privacy. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with, honey. I just wanted to give you--and us--the opportunity. Me first,” he begs, phishing something from his trousers. He presents Brienne with a beautiful yet simple gold engagement ring. 

“What on Earth?” explodes Brienne, trying to pull back as Jaime takes her hand and puts the ring on her finger. “Holy Moses, Jaime,_ this_ is what you start with?” 

“Relax, honey, I’m not dragging you to the altar tomorrow morning,” he winks at her, turning her hand and eyeing the ring from different angles. 

“You better not. This is too much already. . .” 

He cups her cheek and puts a lock of her behind her ear with his prosthetic--his touch simmering her down a bit. Plus, his soft and low voice helps, too. 

“I just wanted to confirm where we stand, that’s all. I promise you, there’s no secret wedding planned for when we land in Salzburg. Or have you reconsidered?” he shrieks then, afraid that should be the real reason for Brienne’s initial freaking out. 

“I haven’t,” she promises. “I’m not saying no, Jaime.” 

“But you’re not saying yes,” he finishes the sentence for her. 

“Not right now, I can’t. Let’s give us time. That’s all I’m asking.” 

He agrees by kissing her cheek softly. He would never pressure her, although there’s a fine line between making her see reason and forcing her arm--she’s as stubborn as they come, she is. 

Brienne looks down on her hand, painfully aware of the ring on her finger, knowing that its weight will never leave her mind. She’ll stare at it every night before falling asleep and will wake up with its glimmer in the morning. She will probably have to hide it from Selwyn and Podrick, and maybe Jaime’s kids too, in order to avoid the so many frightening questions that will come up when they realize what that ring means. 

Trying to distract herself from the thoughts of marriage, a wedding, a church, the social event that it’ll suppose given Jaime’s name, which she will hate per usual, she returns to the original subject they’d brought up. 

Truth be told, there is only one thing Brienne wants to tell Jaime, and it’s lying right there, in front of them. If she couldn’t find the time to explain that to Jaime that morning it wasn’t because she was embarrassed, Goodness her. It was just too soon. She wasn’t sure of what her relationship with Jaime would turn out to be, if he was that jackass she met at the beginning all along, or if she could truly trust him with her life. She needed to be sure. 

And now, she is. 

“It was last year of high school,” she says. “I was so young. . . We both were. It happened with the second boy I’d ever been serious about and albeit I kinda liked him, parenthood was never an option for him. It probably shouldn’t have been for me either, my father was already struggling back then, but he persisted, promising I’d regret otherwise. Margaery also offered her help with the child. And truth be told, having Pod really was the best decision I’ve ever made. Accepting your job offer is also a top three, I reckon.”

She accompanied her last sentence by caressing Jaime’s chin, feeling the growing stubble, for he didn’t even bring toiletries this time around. He smiles, takes her hand, and kisses her palm. 

“Have you had contact with the father?” 

“Not really,” says Brienne. “All I know about him is through mutual acquaintances I barely speak to or see once a year. And it’s alright, that’s just how it is. From what they tell me, I’m far better off like this.” 

She feels the tension in Jaime’s body and goes over her last few words, trying to understand what she said wrong. 

“Not better _alone_, Jaime,” she says, soothing his worries. “Just--without him. It seems he has drinking problems and has had a few encounters with the Law. I wouldn’t want to have such a negative influence on my son and my father. 

“It’s just better this way. Pod’s been the joy of my life. Knowing how it would unfold, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Yeah,” agrees Jaime, kissing the top of her head. “I get what you mean.”

Feeling a slight forlorn tone in Jaime’s voice, Brienne pulls back, her tone and face a bit more vehement now.

“Really, Jaime. Not a thing. Including this.”

“I wish we had a crystal ball to know if it’s the right thing here,” he whispers, without really looking st her. She grabs his chin to force eye contact between them.

“We do not need it,” she replies. “We both agreed and came to terms with the decision after talking it out like the adults we are. Sometimes, we must take risks--that’s quintessential in life. Whatever happens, I already know that it was worth it.”

Sighing deeply, but thanking her for the honesty, Jaime pulls her back on an embrace, letting her rest against his shoulder. They stay there for a long time, him caressing her hair, Brienne drawing circles on his knees, until Jaime finds his voice again.

“Jon’s real name was Jonathan Lancaster. I knew his father, Michael, from the military. A bright, young man, whose wife had died from complications from birth. Jon lived with his grandparents and Michael visited as much as he could. But he was sent out on a mission and never returned. As captain of his unit, I contacted his parents and, well. . . They had lost both their son and daughter-in-law within twelve months. No one could blame them for not being ready to raise a child, so Elsa made the suggestion and. . . They accepted. Back then we had only had Robb and we didn’t even have seconds thoughts about it, for we were sure we wanted more kids. I’m not sure we were pushing for five, however.”

“Seldom people do, I think,” laughs Brienne. “Have you considered that now you’re going for your eighth?”

“I did do the calculus,” confirms Jaime, leaning to kiss her as to confirm the addendum to the family.

She’s enjoying Jaime taking the time to talk so much about his private life, about Elsa. He’s barely opened up to her before, apart from him coming forward about the loss of his hand at the military, of course, and she can see a sparkle of pride and joy in his eyes as he speaks about his children and how his family came to be. A family that, against all odds and logic, today will keep on growing.

_Are we ready for that? _Brienne can’t help but wonder. 

Up there, Podrick mumbles something in his sleep and tosses around, making Jaime’s jacket slip off his shoulders and drop on the ground. Jaime stops talking, in case it was him who nearly woke the boy, and Brienne stands again to check in on Pod. He’s sound asleep still, and so she covers him with the jacket again before returning to her spot by Jaime’s side.

“As per Gendry. . . The case fell into Elsa’s hands when both his parents died from an overdose--you know she worked as a social services agent. They were unable to find any relatives willing to take care of the boy. He seemed to strike a bond of sorts with Elsa and we talked about it. . . I couldn’t possibly have said no to her, that I knew. She presented the case to Court and they granted us custody. He befriended Arya easily, and we thought she’s the one to help him look up.

“Lastly--”

“Don’t go there if you don’t want to,” Brienne stops him again, knowing where he was going--the sparkle in his eyes gone now, he was about to talk about Elsa, and Brienne wouldn’t want to force his hand. She’s starting to think that them not having the time that morning was actually a silver lining, for she couldn't have listened to Jaime saying all of this, and Jaime maybe wasn’t ready to do so then. 

“It was breast cancer,” he says nonetheless, and now that he’s started, she cannot bring herself to stop it at this point. “They found it right after Brandon was born. The diagnosis was pretty straightforward from the beginning: chemo wasn’t even a short-term solution. It gave us six months to ‘settle our things’, but of course it was the worst six months in my entire life, and to be quite honest, given what she went through, to this day I still don't know if Elsa thought it was worth it. She could barely take Brandon in her arms during that time.”

Brienne gives Jaime all of two minutes to make sure he has finished his story. So many years later, his first wife’s death still aches him, as it should be, and she figures he hasn’t had that many opportunities to talk and vent about her death as much as he’d like--as much as he needed. She wanted him to know, once more, that he could confide in her, that he’d find a shoulder to cry on and not judgment or resentment, and that he could come to her with any of those subjects whenever he wants. He’s trying to take deep breaths while wiping the tears off his eyes as if nothing had happened, and she needs him to know that it’s okay to cry and be sad about all of that. For the Seven Gods, if she had to teach the children all of that, why did she think their Father would have magically learned about emotional assessment by himself?

“How did you two meet?” she asks softly, changing the subject, but still letting him know he can trust her.

Surprised by the question, Jaime pulls back, raising an eyebrow. His surprise only gets a scoff from Brienne.

“Jaime, she was the love of your life. I’m curious to know about her. You should feel comfortable to speak about her life, and her death if you need to, with me. So, how did you two meet?” 

He considers the question for about half a minute--this is harder than talking about her cancer and her dying. Brienne briefly ponders if Jaime was right to seek counseling concerning the passing away of her wife, but if he was just so unlucky to find a not suitable professional who he never talked the best moments of Elsa with.

“It was because of my Father. . .” 

Now, Brienne pulls away and raises an eyebrow at him. “Arranged marriage?"

_“Gods, no,”_ he scowls, but then he tilts his head. “Well, as a matter of fact, I suppose it was because of that.

"I'm sorry?"

“Let me explain,” he chuckles upon the pure terror in Brienne’s face. “I was fresh out of college, beginning to work at the Company. The few girls I'd dated in high school and college were less than ideal to meet my Father’s standards, so he decided it was about time to fix it. He wasn’t thinking about an arranged marriage, but he did want me to meet someone sociably acceptable so I could start. . . Well, wooing and dating her, I suppose, even if our ‘chance encounter’ had been completely and utterly planned. 

“It was a nightmare of a day. He showed me a list of potential candidates--Gods, it all sounds so formal, transactional, and cold now. He spent hours showing me file after file with background checks and personal info of all those girls. It felt so wrong on so many levels, I cannot even begin to tell you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore and that night I went to a bar and got hammered. Elsa was in that bar too. Yes, I was completely wasted the first time I met my wife,” he chuckles, “and to be honest, I don’t remember much of the evening. She got me a glass of water and sat with me for the whole night. Later she said we only talked till morning and that I was a perfect gentleman throughout the entire night, but part of me knew I spent hours cursing my Father.

“Next morning, I woke up at her place. I’d been too out of it to give her my address so she took me to her apartment, and she’d let me sleep it off in her bed, too. After a shower and three aspirins on a row, I made her breakfast, and then we spent the whole day together, too. I do remember every tiny detail of that day, everything we talked about, everything we saw. It was just a perfect day. 

“From then on, we were always together. Except for my time in the military, of course, but she was always on my mind, during my deployments, during my training, and I wrote her almost every day. I’m afraid that romantic side of me was buried a long, long time ago,” he sighs deeply at Brienne’s shocked face, “but I’ll try to dig it up sometime soon.” 

“Jaime, you’re giving my father the care that he needs,” she reminds him. “You’re giving my son seven brothers and sisters. And you’re taking me across the country to what I can only describe as fantasy land. You’ve no need for big, romantic gestures. You’ve already done them all.” 

In response, Jaime caresses her back and she plays with some loose strands of hair. She’s still smiling at the wonderful story Jaime’s told her. Although with such a tempestuous beginning, it was so beautiful while it lasted--it almost seems like history repeated itself with Brienne and Jaime, too. Such a wonderful love story, which gave them seven children, but also such a tragic story, with not enough time to enjoy life at its fullest. 

Regardless of how much _she_ enjoyed the tale, she realizes she’s not the one supposed to know about it. She’s not even sure the kids know how their parents met. They’ve barely even mentioned Elsa in front of her before. 

From what she’s managed to gather, however, Brienne knows the woman was kind, smart, patient, and caring. She’s hopeful Elsa, while she was alive and healthy, made the time to tell them stories about her and Jaime, and that the kids, at least the older brothers and sisters, might be able to remember his Father for who he was, and not what tragedy and strife made him to be. 

“Perhaps it isn’t my place to say so--"

“Oh, please, Brinny. You do not need my permission to speak up anymore. Never have.”

“Consider it a suggestion, then. I think the kids would love to talk about all of this with you,” she says softly. “You know better than anyone that your kids didn’t have much time with their mother, and most of them don’t even remember her. They’d kill to know more about Elsa.” They did confess so just once when Brienne remarked on the few family portraits hanging from the dining room. The subject was never brought up again, for she saw how much it pained them. 

“Well, I’ll talk to them before it gets to that.”

Brienne chuckles in agreement, offering Jaime a tissue to dry his eyes and nose. He manages to settle fully after a minute, and then he receives her back into his arms. 

"Is that all?” she asks then, cautious. It’s not as if this had been a futile journey, nor is she asking for an explanation about the Laws of the Universe. It’s only, she thought Lannister Company might come up. She didn’t exactly expect Jaime to give her a detailed report on it, either. 

“Yes,” nods Jaime, in spite of her hopes. “Well, no, wait. You should know this: if a child refuses to sleep during nap time, are they guilty of resisting a rest?”

“Nooo--” groans Brienne, stretching the vowel for several seconds. As Jaime chuckles, begging her for restraint lest they wake Podrick up, she rolls her eyes at him, completely drained. “And here I started to think that I was finally safe from your terrible jokes.”

“Don’t blame me,” sighs Jaime. “I’ve got a lot of jokes about retirement, but none of them work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a soft chapter to write. . . The intimacy, the honesty, the fears they share. . . I enjoyed writing it so much, and although it's kind of short compared to other chapters, I hope you enjoyed reading it !! 
> 
> As the family settles in Salzburg, we'll return --however loosely-- to the original screenplay, with some obvious, major changes !! You'll soon find out. . .


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family --the WHOLE family-- settles into the Lannister's Mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back !! Hope you like it :D

The rest of the trip is peaceful and quiet, so much that Brienne even believes she manages to doze off in Jaime’s arms. And it’s a good thing, too, for it gives them both time to regain their strength and embrace themselves for what awaits them in Salzburg. 

As soon as Christoph drives past the front entrance fence, all seven children start yelling to greet them home, jumping up and down, fighting to be seen and heard first. Robb opens the car door even before Cristoph has come to a full stop, and Jon’s whisking Jaime and Brienne away from the car by the time the chauffeur kills the engine. 

“Miss Tarth!!” 

“Brinny! You’re finally back!!” 

“Fräulein!! Welcome home!” 

The kids aren’t certain of what titles to use while addressing her, and to be quite honest, Brienne wouldn’t know how to solve the conundrum, but two things are obvious: they _have_ missed her, and they’re all happy to have her back, which is all that matters, now. They show so by hugging and kissing her back, cheering at the top of their lungs. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” scowls Jaime. The kids finally settle a bit, and although Brienne feels wrong for it, she also knows that it’s supposed to be like this for now. “Come on, guys, what did we talk about? Brienne’s father needs to rest, so cut it with all the yelling, thank you very much. And introduce yourselves.” 

At that, they turn towards Podrick, the last one to leave the limousine, and one by one, they say their names and age, the same way they did on Brienne’s first day at the house: Robb, Jon, Sansa, Gendry, Arya, Rickon, Brandon. The difference here is, today they don’t use any patronizing or condescending voice with Podrick, but instead, Rickon and Brandon just go ahead and give Podrick a hug, provided that he doesn’t resist it. Both Brienne and Jaime, standing apart from their children, exchange one look and breathe again: they both realized that the first meeting was a crucial moment. For them, it wasn’t a very bright starting point. For the kids, however, it seems they set off far better than they did. 

Behind the limousine, the paramedics are taking Selwyn out on the stretcher. The children fall completely silent, all eight of them, without Jaime nor Brienne asking them too, watching the paramedics carry the patient. 

He, of course, sees them all staring, and is the only person present who can come up with a shade of humor. “Hey, last I checked, I wasn’t a circus attraction. You can all stop staring. I will not be dying here in front of your eyes.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Tarth,” whispers Jaime. “These are my children, but if you’d like we can postpone the introductions until you’re settled.” 

“Well, you weren’t kidding when you said you did have a bunch of children,” laughs Selwyn. 

“I seldom joke,” promises Jaime, but everyone around contradicts him by either groaning or bursting out laughing. That statement might have been true before, but nowadays he can get the better of his family whenever he pops out one of his ‘dad jokes’. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a good sense of humor,” nods Selwyn. 

“Thank you,” appreciates Jaime. 

“You’ve got a nice house, I’ll grant you that,” Selwyn says, raising a hand so that the paramedics stop for a second and he can stare at the Mansion. Everyone looks up to look at the façade as well, and Selwyn even whistles in awe. 

“These walls have seen four generations of Lannisters,” explains Jaime, pride in his voice, but then he addresses the paramedics. “We can give him a tour later. If you follow housekeeper Schmidt, she’ll lead you to Mr. Tarth’s room.” 

“This way, please,” says the woman, waving them inside. 

Franz hurries to open the second doors of the front entrance, to make it easier to maneuver the stretcher. Brienne's the first to walk in after her father, then Lena, then Podrick and Jaime, and then the rest of the children--Christopher and Franz the last ones. 

“We’ve prepared a guest room on the first floor,” explains housekeeper Schmidt then, “so that Mr. Tarth doesn't strain himself so much if he wishes to walk around a bit in his wheelchair.” 

“Most kind of you,” says the man in question.

As not to overwhelm Selwyn upon his arrival, Jaime orders his children to stay back, letting Brienne and her family settle on their own terms. She does notice that half the entourage has been left behind and looks back, addressing Jaime an appreciative smile. 

“Take your time,” Jaime mouths at her, to which Brienne nods. 

Behind him, he realizes the younger siblings have run off upstairs to prepare the room for Podrick’s arrival, although Jon, Sansa, and Robb stay behind, sullen faces. Jaime swallows, hard. Worried that they disagree with the plans and that they're not too shy to speak up. 

“What can I help you with?” he asks, too innocent. 

“How _is_ Mr. Tarth?” asks Robb. 

“We want the full version, not the sugar-coated one you gave the others,” Jon adds before Jaime tries to give them a white lie. 

“And how much does Podrick know?”

_Dear Lord, this is about Elsa,_ Jaime understands then, his heart shattering. The three had to be so brave and strong for their siblings, they’ll never forget what it was like, what they went through. And now they want to extend Podrick the same courtesy, if at all possible. How did they grow up to be such fine women and gentlemen with their asshole father as their only model? 

“I haven’t spoken to the doctors directly. It’s not good, but it’s not terrible, either.” He decides brutal honesty is much better for everyone here. “As I said, Mr. Tarth needs all the rest he can get to recover. And as per Podrick, I think he’s mostly aware of the situation, but that doesn’t mean you need to make any statements to the press.” 

“No, we just wanted--” 

“Yes, I know what you wanted,” says Jaime with a warm smile, making them all breathe better and relax. “Just remember that for the time being there’s no need to freak Podrick out. Nor any of your siblings. Is that understood?” 

“So, we keep with the ‘distracting’ technique, only,” Sansa summarises--remembering the instructions they got from their Father back in Vienna, a couple of days back. 

“Distracting and having fun technique, if at all possible,” Jaime points out, managing some smiles all around. “Everything is going to be okay, you’ll see. You don’t need to worry about anything except enjoying the last few days of holidays.” 

They all nod and turn to join their siblings, but Jaime cannot send them away like that, brushing them off like he always does. They deserve more from him. This is where he needs to draw the line. 

“Hey, listen,” he calls them out, looking beyond them to make sure the other kids are still busy playing. “This isn’t the best of times, but if you ever want to talk about your Mother. . . We can make time. We should be able to talk about her, I believe. We all loved her. And if we haven’t, that’s definitely on me.” 

The suggestion shocks their systems, even if they try to hide it. They exchange frowned looks and open mouths for all of ten seconds, unable to find a response. Jaime spares them. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says. “I’m here. The door’s always open.” 

“Okay,” agrees Sansa. 

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Jon says. 

“Thank you, Father,” nods Robb. 

With that, they finally turn around to join their siblings upstairs, and Jaime drops dead on a chair against the wall, surprised that he got through the conversation unscathed, too. How many things Brienne has altered for the better in their lives so far? How much does he owe Brienne already, and how is he ever supposed to repay her for it all? 

Down the hall, Brienne follows her father and the paramedics. The room in question chosen for Selwyn’s convalescence is located at the edge of the west wing, with views to the terrace and the gardens, relatively close to the kitchen and yet also far enough from the kitchen--much less all the other bedrooms--so that no one and nothing will disturb her father’s need for peace and quiet. She’s long since gotten used to the dimensions of the mansion, but as she thanks Christopher for carrying their remaining bags and drops them all on the floor, she sees the astonishment in her father and her son’s faces. This room alone is three times the bedroom she shared with Podrick. 

“Do you need anything else, Brienne?” asks Christoph, finally returning to the agreed first-name basis in private. 

“Guys, thank you for all your hard work, but really, I think I can manage.” Of course, her father has other worries in mind, such as not feeling like a complete nuisance--and insists on trying to make it from the stretcher to the bed by himself. 

“Dad, please,” begs Brienne. 

Luckily, the nurse hired by Jaime could make a run for Selwyn’s money on a stubbornness contest, and she manages to talk Selwyn out of that sort of exertion. Brienne approves with a smile--she’s proving she can handle her father so far, and she can predict many more battles to come in the near future. 

By the time Selwyn is lying on his king-size bed, he’s exhausted already. Panting, his breathing ragged and shallow, he’s got his eyes closed. Podrick hasn’t said yet a word and approaches the bed to take his grandfather’s hand--but the man doesn’t even react. 

“Pod,” she calls him out, grabbing one of his bags. The boy lets go of his grandfather reluctantly, and in the end, he still meets his mother. “Go with Christopher to find Mr. Lannister. See if they can show you your room.” 

“I won’t share a room with you or grandpa?” 

“This time, you won’t,” promises Brienne with a smile, leaning to wink at him. “In fact, I think you’re going to share a room with one of your new brothers, how does that sound?” 

“Pretty cool, I guess,” grants Podrick. Brienne sees a sparkle in his eyes and she gets a pretty clear idea of what is Podrick’s picturing: late nights playing and joking and reading books with Rickon and Brandon, maybe even planning adventures. To be fair, it’s not such a stretch. 

“Doesn’t it?” agrees Brienne. “Then go with Christoph, please.” 

“Come, Podrick,” says the man, taking the boy’s bag and hanging it from his shoulder--fully understanding that Brienne wanted to get her son out of the room as soon as possible. 

She turns towards her father and approaches the bedside. Some part of her brain registers that it’s going to be much easier spending the nights with her father now--for there’re two couches on the room, which look far more comfortable than the one she had Jaime sleeping in, and wouldn't even be fair to compare them with those chairs at the hospital. 

Selwyn seems to be doing a little better, at the very least, he doesn’t look so white anymore. 

“Rough trip?” she asks, running a hand through his forehead and exchanging one look with Lena--expecting honesty from her if Selwyn doesn’t. 

“It was a bit long,” confesses her father in a whisper. “I actually think I could do with some sleep.” 

“Then sleep as much as you want to,” says Brienne, eager for her father to get the proper rest he deserves. She sits on the edge of the bed, but there’s still plenty of spare space as not to bother her father in the slightest. 

“Perhaps I should meet those kids first. . .”

“Later,” Brienne interjects softly. They’ve got all the time in the world. 

“Fräulein Lena, there’s a bathroom across the hall entirely at your disposal,” Frau Schmidt keeps on giving instructions, now that the paramedics have left. “If convenient, could you come to the kitchen so you and the cooks can plan a weekly diet for the patient?” 

“Of course,” nods Lena, a little bit surprised. When Jaime and Brienne were discussing this whole idea, she thought it was just a whim of the moment and that they wouldn’t be prepared to attend all of Selwyn’s needs. So far, they’re proving her wrong, to the great personal pride and satisfaction for Brienne. 

“Whatever she says, don’t listen to her--I can eat eggs and bacon!” yells the patient as Lena and Frau Schmidt leave the room. 

“Dad,” begs Brienne, resting a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. 

He gives her a smug smile at his little transgression and then lies back on the bed with a deep sigh--truly tired, whatever he says. 

All alone, at last, Brienne lies by her father’s side, the king big enough for the two of them to lie comfortable, without even touching each other’s shoulders. Brienne caresses Selwyn’s arm, looking around from her father’s perspective: he will lie here for a long time until he recovers. 

To the left, against the wall, lays a wooden wardrobe for Selwyn’s and Lena’s clothes and belongings. There’re a couple of gigantic portraits on the wall in front of them, some Austrian soldiers Brienne can’t put her finger on their names, riding horses. The TV on the corner crashes violently with the 18th-century style of the room, given the portraits, the bed with its canopy, the golden final touches on the portraits’ frames, or baseboards. She reckons it’s something else Jaime prepared for Selwyn’s stay. And there on the left, the double glass doors that lead to the terrace and, beyond, to the mansion grounds. He’ll get plenty of sunlight during the day, and perhaps they can move the bed closer to the windows so he can see stars and the moon rising at night. 

Only by turning his head, Selwyn will see the green gardens and forest, hear the chirping and tweeting of bird, maybe even catch some flying past, or find a bird nest. It’s definitely an improvement from the dull and claustrophobic room she would have left him in back in Vienna, and only for that, Brienne’s grateful to Jaime, and knows that whatever else happens, it was a good idea coming here. 

A few minutes later, Lena reappears. She nods in approval of Selwyn asleep, albeit she disapproves of Brienne lying on the bed with the same look. Even when Lena didn’t say a word, Brienne descends to a chair to look after her father while Lena unpacks her bags. Brienne offers to do the same with Selwyn’s belongings, to which Lena refuses, saying that it is her job. 

Shocked, Brienne doesn’t know how to answer. She’s Selwyn’s daughter, what’s her job here exactly, then?

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to it,” sighs Brienne after a while, letting Lena fulfill the duties she was after all hired to comply. 

“Enjoy your day, Miss Tarth.” 

“Thanks. I’ll come by later.” 

She’s got no idea of where Jaime and the children are, and all the household members seem to have vanished. On her way back to the entrance hall, she stops by the kitchens and grabs a muffin--she barely had the stomach to eat anything this morning. 

Her best option, instead of wasting time searching the whole house and grounds, is to go upstairs to the second-floor dormitories. Maybe if the children aren’t up there, she will find a steward who will indicate where they are. 

Halfway through the stairs, she realizes her hunch was spot on: the rattle, jabber, and yelling from the kids do come from the second-floor dormitories, indeed. Gods, the Mansion is indeed big enough to house eight children ranging from toddlers to teenagers, plus a senior citizen in need of rest after surgery, without each being a nuisance for each other. 

Before she meets the kids, however, she needs to stop by her old chambers. Christopher, out of courtesy, she’s certain, has already taken her bags there, and they lie, untouched, by the pristinely made bed. Brienne closes the door behind her and looks around, reminiscing. It was inevitable that this room, more than anything else she’d be put through today, would overwhelm her. 

When she first stepped into these chambers, it was as a simple governess, a commoner, a nobody, even--Mr. Lannister made sure to put her in her place. Upon Mr. Lannister’s return, she was then a friend, she supposes. She left that ball night because she was so damned scared of becoming something else, something forbidden. But then, Jaime and she did become that something more, that beautiful and charming and adorable item. And they left for Vienna, for her father, as a. . . A couple, yes. 

She’s not unpacking her bags, not for the time being. With all their talk these past few days, there were few things certain, but that she and Jaime were an item, that was one of them. And that, even with having rooms to spare, they were supposed to share one bedroom, wasn’t even a question for Jaime. However, Brienne did need to put her foot down on this one. 

“I’m going to need my own space there,” she begged him. 

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth, either. She does want to share Jaime’s chamber, and not only to replace the memories of that single encounter she had there with Jaime on the eve of his departure, with many memories much more appealing and satisfactory. She still wants to have her own bubble in this Manor. In case something happens--she needs a place of hers to hide in, to flee to. 

In case Podrick needs her comfort in privacy. In case Sansa wanted to resume those night-time chats, if she doesn’t hate her, that is. In case that, for whatever reason, any of the children need her and wish to speak to her safely away from their father--or in case another thunderstorm ever strikes. She doesn’t foresee any of it happening in the imminent future, much less now that Jaime’s succeeding to bond with his children, but still. She wants to keep that door open. 

Leaving the suitcases as they are, she abandons the room and heads for her initial goal: the children’s bedrooms. The racket has not stopped during the time she’s spent in her room, quite the opposite, in fact, it’s intensified. 

She finds Jaime first, standing out in the hallway, almost as if pondering fleeing. He’s standing in front of the open door to Rickon’s and Brandon’s room, now Podrick’s too, which is where all the racket stems from--he doesn’t even hear her approaching until she rests a hand on his arm. Upon his silent question wondering if her father settled in alright, she nods, and then they cross arms at their backs, silently comforting and reassuring each other. Then, she peaks above his shoulder to know what the fuss is all about. 

The room, which Brienne knows for a fact was in pristine condition thirty minutes ago, has now weathered a hurricane, or in other words, three overstimulated kids with a lot of imagination. She’s sure it may have started with Bran and Rickon showing Podrick his new room, which must have led to showing him their toys, and from there to starting a battle with action figures was almost predictable. 

What maybe Jaime wasn’t expecting was that the same kids would join in the battle. Not only the three younger siblings, but also Gendry and Arya. Using bed sheets and blankets as capes, plastic swords, and hats and cupboards helmets, plus the beds and wardrobes themselves as strategic points where to hide or place their battalions, the room has now become a war zone. And by the sounds of it, there will be no survivors. 

Resting against the threshold, Brienne sighs. This is their life, now. The knot of her stomach vanishes and some part of her brain confirms that this was a good idea in the end. She couldn’t have given any of this to her family in Vienna: a proper place to rest for her father, adequate company, and sufficient distraction for Podrick. It’d be impossible to reconcile it in inside their tiny apartment, even with Margaery and Sammy's help.

“I’m not sure I was ready for this,” confesses Jaime in a whisper. Out of everyone involved, this transition was supposed to be easiest on Jaime, but apparently he’s having a hard time reconciling what his eyes see. Brienne chuckles at that. 

“We have eight children, now,” she reminds him. “What did you expect? Peace and quiet?” 

_“Didn’t know it wasn’t an option!”_ he complains, amusement voice.

Brienne chuckles, and Jaime spins to face her, half shocked, half outraged. But then his expression softens and he reaches a hand to place a flock of loose hair behind her ear. At that moment, Brienne knows they’re thinking the same thing: this was a good idea. If meeting his kids can help Podrick get back part of the childhood he missed out on, Jaime and Brienne will be satisfied with the journey. After all, Jaime’s still trying, and will keep trying for the rest of his life, to make up for lost time with his own children, but he’s succeeding thanks to Brienne. At long last, it seems there is something he can give her in return. 

The door to their right opens and Jon, Robb, and Sansa come out, meeting their father and Brienne on the hall. Sansa stands by Brienne’s side, forcing her father to step backwards, and grabs her by the arm, careful of her cast. The gesture allows Brienne to breathe in again--given how they parted ways on that excursion to the mountains, she feared the girl would still be mad at her. 

“How’s your father?” asks Sansa softly. 

“Sleeping now. Thank you,” says Brienne. 

She hugs Sansa by the shoulders and feeling elated by Sansa smiling fondly at the touch. They’ve missed each other so much, which leads Brienne to remember that they never finished their greeting earlier, and for that, Brienne takes two fingers into her lips and whistles. The kids all stop playing and look up at her with broad, bright smiles. 

“Come here, you all,” she orders. 

The kids do not need to be told twice and in their haste, they force Jaime to step back, as they rush towards Brienne to hug her and greet her properly. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” she confesses. The feeling is obviously and clearly mutual, Jaime couldn’t be happier for it. 

“We missed you too!” yells Rickon. 

“We’ve missed your bedtime stories!” adds Brandon, and then the children, one by one, start listing all the things they’ve missed while Brienne was in Vienna with her family: the riding, the excursions up in the mountains, the handcrafts, Jorah’s bakery, the music lessons... 

“Oh, we missed all the noise you make in the morning,” Jaime chuckles. “And all your fights over breakfast!” 

“Mostly I’ve missed hearing you singing,” nods Brienne. 

“Then you came back just in time!” says Arya, jumping to her feet. “We’re going to sing at the Festival! We’ve got the program somewhere--” 

As Gendry runs off to get the program and the rest of the kids keep on talking excitedly about how much they’ve been practicing while Brienne was gone, she looks up at Jaime, raising an eyebrow. By his reaction, a single and resigned deep sigh, the kids have already broken the news to him, and he’s accepted it, as it seems. Neither Jaime nor Brienne could refuse the kids anything right now, lest they break their poor hearts. 

“Well then, we’ll have to practice these days, won’t we, children?” asks Brienne. At long last, Gendry appears with the program. And there they are, indeed, even though their Father might oppose. The Von Trapp Family singers: Robb, Jon, Sansa, Gendry, Arya, Rickon, and Brandon. They’re going to have to talk to Tyrion about changing the list, for Brienne and Podrick will be up there on that stage, too. 

“Why am I always last?” complains Brandon. 

“Because you’re the most important one,” promises Brienne, holding him tightly against her side. He beams at that, and Brienne gives the program over to Jaime. “It doesn’t say what songs you’ll be singing.” 

“We were hoping you’d help us with the selection,” confesses Robb. “We’re struggling a bit.” 

“We were considering _‘The Hills Are Alive’_ and ‘So Long, Farewell’--you know, the one you taught us for the ball,” says Jon. 

“Yeah, I remember,” nods Brienne. “They’re good choices. Sansa can play the guitar for the first one and just maybe, with a little bit of help, there’s enough time to teach your father the song on the harmonica.” 

The kids beam at such an idea, looking up at their father. He chuckles in response, his eyes still glued on that program with his seven children’s names. Brienne has to hide a smile. He might not have said anything against the Festival just yet, as not to get cross with his kids minutes after his return, but he’s still having a hard time coping with it. She can also predict that later, Tyrion will most certainly weather a conversation about fulfilling Jaime’s wishes and going behind his back. 

“And. . . What about _‘Do-Re-Mi’?”_ she asks to change the subject. 

“Yes, we were thinking that one too!” agrees Arya. 

“We thought that maybe, we could convince the audience to join in--you know, because we’d be teaching the lyrics through the same song,” Gendry points out. 

“I think it’s a magnificent idea,” approves Brienne. “We all know the lyrics here, after all.” 

“Pod, you _do_ know those lyrics songs, don’t you?” asks Robb, trying to include the boy as well. 

At that, Jaime laughs out loud and Podrick gives Robb a condescending side look. Finally, Brienne feels, for the first time today, that everything’s fallen into place, and that if they’re extremely lucky, they’ll be alright. 

“And here I thought I’d raised smart children,” Jaime chuckles under his breath, amused tone. “Kids, Pod was raised by Brienne herself,” he reminds everyone. “He might know more about music than any of us.” 

“That’s probably accurate,” agrees the boy, shrugging. Everyone laughs at his modesty, and Brienne shakes her head, letting it slide, just this once. “I do know all of those songs, thank you very much. When’s the festival?” 

“Third Saturday of the month,” Jon answers--they know the date by heart. 

“Exactly three weeks from today.” 

“Hey, listen, why don’t we show Podrick the grounds, as well?” suggests Jaime then, an attempt to distract the kids from the conversation and to include Pod in their routine, but also trying to ensure the Mansion survives for another generation of Lannisters. 

“Sure!” everybody agrees, jumping to their feet. 

“Did you know that we have horses, Pod?” asks Gendry, pulling Podrick by the arm. 

“No, I didn’t!” he says, looking bewildered at his mother--hurt that she hadn’t divulged that piece of information. She’d kept it from him for no other reason than the fact that she’d almost forgotten about the stables. Too much information and too many things to take care of, with so little time to do it all. 

Letting the children take the lead, Jaime and Brienne fall back and follow them at a safe distance. Close enough to remind them, for example, that they need to be silent while crossing the ground floor--not that they’d forgotten, since Robb and Sansa are there too to shush everyone else--but giving them space once they step out to the terrace. 

Before going too far away, Brienne turns her back to the kids and looks at the last room on the west wing. She’s in two minds about checking in on her father and maybe, if he’s awake, asking him to join them. A walk through the grounds might even cheer him up. Then again, he’s barely had any time to rest, and he needs to catch up on as much sleep as he can. 

“Hey,” Jaime whispers, his hand on her shoulders. He massages her tense nerves for a few seconds, as best as he can--Brienne’s noticed he’s not wearing the prosthetic anymore. “Lena’ll tell us if there was anything wrong. 

“If I were in your shoes, I’d be worried about. . . _That.” _

He makes her turn around towards the grounds, and Brienne almost freaks out there, for the kids have run off and are pretty far away already. She needs a second to count all eight figures and make sure no one’s vanished into thin air. 

In one word, they go wild: they start running the minute they’re outdoors, racing each other through the grounds. Jon and Robb take Podrick and Rickon respectively up to their shoulders and play as if jousting, trying to push each other off. They tell jokes, they laugh, they shout, and sometimes, they sing, Podrick joining in every single time. 

Comparing this sight to the first walk she ever endured with the children, on her very first day at the mansion, well. . . There’s no comparison to be made, really. She’s so proud and happy that the change happened, and that she was able to see it happen, and most especially, that Jaime was part of it all too. That they didn’t lose him on the way, for they’d miss out on so much if he hadn’t seen how wrong his relationship with his kids was. 

Unable to stop herself, she grabs Jaime’s hands, lays it over her shoulders, and even dares to give Jaime a soft kiss on the cheek. He seems more than happy with that. They join in the singing now and then, but for the most part, they let the children set the pace and walk in front. There is one thing that hasn’t changed, after all, and that is the fac that Podrick’s as mesmerized by his surroundings and the landscape as Brienne was, back in the day. 

Per Podrick’s plea, the kids do stop at the barn, and Jaime lets go of Brienne’s hand to step upfront and do the proper introductions: Bertha, Gustav, Mendel, Erwin, and Kurt. Jon pulls up a stool so Podrick can stroke Erwin’s crest, while the other Lannister kids walk around the barn fulfilling different tasks, such as feeding the other horses and refilling the buckets of water. As per Brienne, she stays close to Mendel’s stall, and the horse seems to remember her, for some reason: he moves his head up and down, kicking the ground. 

“Hello to you too,” Brienne responds, reaching a hand as well. She catches Jaime looking at her from a dark corner, and she fears what’s coming to her in the future. 

Under the promise of riding very soon--much to Brienne’s dismay--they can convince Podrick and the rest of the kids to resume their walking. Brienne’s never been happier to see the light of day, and when Jaime finds her again, he’s shaking his head at her animosity towards horses. 

“I don’t need to justify a more than reasonable fear for those animals,” she scowls before Jaime starts. 

“I said nothing!” he replies, raising both hands. 

At some point, Jaime suggests they should go back to the house. The kids will have none of it and instead take the football they’ve been carrying. Without a complaint, Brienne and Jaime join in, and they all split into two groups and, this time, they’re on equal teams. 

They’re fairly matched in skill, and tactics, to say the least. Brienne is pleased to see that at every opportunity, they do pass the ball over to Podrick, even when he doesn’t yet know how to play with the other Lannisters, or half the tactics and strategies they use--in the end, the best way for him to learn is to practice, and he does manage to score one goal. The idea today was to have fun, and they do: half the time they’re bent over laughing at something someone did or said throughout the game. 

Well, except for the one moment where Brienne’s heart stops beating. That’s when Robb and Gendry have a nasty fight over the ball and the latter falls to the ground with an earth-shattering scream, holding onto his foot, tossing around. 

“Dammit!” he screams as all his family members reconvene around him, the game all but forgotten. “Dammit, Robb, screw you!” 

“Language, Gendry!” scowls Jaime, kneeling on the ground. 

“Hey, deep breaths,” Brienne instructs, softer voice. 

“Gendry! Are you OK?” shriek the children, all of them worried sick. The boy, however, is biting his lower lip as hard as he can to refrain from crying. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Brienne tries to soothe him, helping him lie down on the ground. Arya and Robb keep him there, steady, as she takes off his left sneaker and sock. His ankle, red at the moment, is already starting to swell. 

“Pulled a muscle?” Jaime guesses, his voice constraint out of fear and worry, and yet he’s trying to pull off a brave façade for his children. 

“Think so, yeah,” nods Brienne, gently touching the sore area. “But we’re going to need to take him to the hospital to make sure.” 

No one raises a complaint about visiting a doctor this time--Jaime seems to be the most interested here in personally driving Gendry to the hospital--which once more, leaves Brienne confused. Would Jaime, the Jaime she met, would have been upset to hear that Robb had been injured at practices? Could anger had been his first response, even before worry and concern? Did Robb really fear his Father’s response back then? 

“I see pulling muscles runs in the family,” she tries to joke, looking at Robb, who blushes. “We didn’t bring any bandages, did we?” 

“Hold on, I’ll check my purse,” scowls Jaime, making Brienne roll her eyes. 

“That bad, huh?” asks Gendry. Despite the pain, he’s starting to breathe easier.

“No, not really,” Brienne says softly, winking at him to ease his worries. “We’ll let Lena check that ankle and see if we need to take you to the hospital. And in any case, you’re just going to have to take it easy for a few days. Isn’t that so, Podrick?” 

“Yeah,” agrees the boy, stepping in to reassure poor Gendry. “I think I’ve pulled every muscle in my body. If Mommy says you’re going to be alright, you are.” 

“Okay,” nods Gendry, feeling better now. He tries to pull up to a sitting position and the siblings, provided by Brienne’s nod, allow him to. 

“Would a handkerchief suffice, Fräulein?” asks Sansa, taking one out of her pocket. 

“It’s okay, we can wait till we get back to the manor,” replies Brienne. 

She puts his sock on, ever so careful and measured movements, to keep the area warm, but forgets all about his sneaker, which would only hurt him--they’ve got quite a stroll back. They wait until Gendry plucks up the courage to nod, and help him up. He swallows a groan of pain as he rests in his father’s arms to catch his breath. 

“Should I call Franz to come to pick you up?” Jaime says then. 

“Pick me up in what? One of the horses?” Gendry jokes, making everybody else laugh, too. There are hardly other means to get to where they’re standing. “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

“Here. Lean on me,” Jaime instructs, holding part of Gendry’s weight. 

Can’t be a comfortable position for either one of them, especially when Jaime uses his good hand to hold Gendry stable and keeps the other high to keep balance, but they do not complain, and no one steps in to offer helping Gendry in Jaime’s stead. Father and son look more than happy to go back to the house just like that. As they lead their family entourage, Robb takes Gendry’s shoe, Jon the football, and Brienne pulls Podrick to her side. After a while, she takes Rickon in as well, still a bit shaken after seeing his sibling in pain and screaming and cursing the way he did. 

“He’s going to be fine, I promise. See?” she says, pointing at Gendry up front, struggling to walk straight with his father’s help. 

On their way back, they stop again at the barn. Not due to a desire to see the horses again, but because they’re tired, hot, thirsty, and in Gendry’s case, aching. They give him a stool to sit on in the darkness, while Jaime gets a hold of the hose. One by one, starting by Gendry, drink some freshwater, and they also cup their hands with water to refreshen their faces and necks. 

“How’re you doing?” Brienne asks Gendry, kneeling by his side. 

“It’s only ten more minutes to the house now,” Jaime tries to encourage the boy, albeit they know it’s going to be fifteen to twenty minutes, actually, the way he’s walking. “Think you can make it?” 

“Sure, Father,” nods Gendry. Brienne sees the man frown at that title, for he still would like to be addressed to by any warmer title, but he keeps quiet about it. 

“Would you like me to run to the house and alert Frau Schmidt and nurse Lena?” suggests Robb, who still feels so bad about Gendry’s injury and hasn’t left his side. 

Neither Brienne nor Jaime can answer to the question, whether to accept or refuse his suggestion, for there’s a high-pitched scream behind them and they spin, in case another one of the kids has put themselves in harms’ way behind their backs. But this is a whole different situation this time: Arya has just used the water hose to completely drench Rickon from head to toes, who’s now fighting for the hose. Arya, in her attempt to escape, also hits Jon and Sansa, and Brienne can just predict how the next few minutes will unfold. 

_“Hey, stop this!”_ yells Jaime--the poor man, he will attempt to put a stop to their game. 

Sure enough, only five minutes later each and every one of them, including Gendry, Sansa, and Podrick as well, has been a victim of the water hose. They’re dripping wet, but laughing so hard they’re pretty certain they can be heard from the manor, no longer hot now. 

At some point, complaining that his ide hurts because he’s been laughing so much, Jaime manages to impose some decorum. 

“Okay, guys. Playtime is over. Gendry needs to be checked out, and you all need to change before lunch. Come on,” he says, helping Gendry from the floor, where he’s ended up throughout the water fight. 

This time around, the kids run along towards the house, under Robb’s promise that they’ll find frau Schmidt and nurse Lena, whereas the two adults fall behind with Gendry. By the time they reach the terrace, the housekeeper and the nurse are waiting for them, while the kids are sitting on the chairs and benches, enjoying the warm sun. Leaving Jaime in charge of Gendry, Brienne sends the rest of the entourage up to their rooms to change, and she follows behind.

She heads for her chambers as well when she sees the kids are indeed changing and not creating havoc again. A few minutes later, someone knocks on her door--Jaime. Leaning tiredly against the threshold, he smiles softly at her. 

“Did you predict it’d be anything like this?” he moans, waving generally to the house, the grounds, everything. 

She laughs at his concern and shock. “They’re children, Jaime, these things are supposed to happen. Hate to remind you, but you were never there to know how children behave. Or should behave. Here,” she says, handing him the towel she’d been using, for he’s still dripping wet. He didn’t seem to mind at all, but now he starts drying his hair. 

“No, I’m not complaining. It’s just. . . A lot,” he confesses. 

“Eight children.” 

“So you keep reminding me,” scowls Jaime, shaking his head in disbelief. “Where have we put ourselves into, I pray?” 

“Let me remind you as well, it was _your_ idea, Mr. Lannister,” laughs Brienne, sitting on the bed. She pats the spot by her side and, at her invitation, Jaime steps into the room, though he stands--now remembering the fact that his clothes are all soaked. 

“Yeah. Tyrion keeps telling me I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I keep forgetting. Why do you listen to me, again?” 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she shrugs. “Maybe we'll come to regret it, maybe it was the best idea we could have come up with."

"I certainly hope it's the latter," confesses Jaime, making Brienne blush a little, and because of that, she seeks for any other subject of conversation.

"So, Gendry?” 

“Correct as always, Miss Tarth--or should I say, Doctor Tarth. He pulled a muscle,” explains Jaime, beaming at seeing Brienne blush at that title. “Nurse Lena has bandaged the ankle, but dismisses any need to rush him to the hospital. It seems he’ll survive.” 

“I’m sure he will,” nods Brienne. 

After a few seconds of silence, Jaime folds the towel as best as he can and throws it neatly on the bed. Brienne pats the towel, at a loss for words. 

“Will we?” asks Jaime in a soft whisper. 

Seeing the nervousness in his voice and eyes, Brienne stands to meet him. She doesn’t care about his wet clothes and hair as she rests her arms around his shoulders, caressing the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. 

“I’m sure we will, as well,” she says, giving him a quick peck. 

His hands travel up her body, and his left-hand moves up to cup her face, whereas his stump rests around her shoulders, in time. She reads his next question before he needs to utter it--he once hid his emotions as deep as he could, but she can now read him like the open book that he truly is. 

“And our families will, too,” she insists. 

“Yeah. Of course,” agrees Jaime. “You saw how happy the children were to see you and to have you around again.” 

“And they’ve been wonderful to welcome Pod into their home, alas.” 

“Quite the opposite to what I did to you, huh?” he asks, tilting his head to one side, daring her to contradict him. She can’t, however. 

“I wasn’t going to mention that,” she says, blushing slightly, although it is Jaime the one to drop his gaze to the ground in embarrassment to that first meeting, and every meeting after that for weeks to come. 

“There is so much I’d change, if I could.” 

“But we wouldn’t be here if none of it had happened,” she replies, resting her forehead against his, their lips so close that she cannot stop herself from kissing Jaime again. Out there, however, they hear a stampede climbing down the steps and, frightened, they pull apart, even though Jaime did shut the door. “What I can say is that--having the two adults in here while our eight children are unsupervised out there, is a bad idea.” 

“Good point,” Jaime agrees. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

Brienne keeps him there for one more second. “I’ll even give you ten.” 

Chuckling, Jaime leaves her chambers, leaving the door ajar for her to follow. In spite of knowing for a fact that there are no children on the second floor, Brienne stays in the room for a total amount of fifteen seconds, giving Jaime time to get away, before stepping outside and climbing down the stairs. 

Albeit the kids should be waiting for them at the living room first, to later go through to the dining room whenever Jaime and Brienne join them--Tyrion did have the whole day off--Brienne finds them all at the kitchen, snacking on some fries. She can’t bring herself to tell them off and instead, she checks in on Gendry, who promises he’s alright; then on Sansa, who says she’s alright too; and finally on Podrick, who argues he’s having a great time with the Lannisters. Her worse fears placated, she finds an empty stool to sit on, and Jon offers her a glass of water, too. 

Jaime joins them a few minutes later, smiling broadly. He winks at her from the door before he mirrors exactly what she did first, checking in on Gendry and Sansa. 

“Fräulein,” Mia calls her out, holding out a tray. “This is for your father. . .” 

“I’ll take it,” she says, standing from her stool. 

“I could do that, if you’d like,” Robb offers, jumping to his feet, too. 

“That’s very kind, but I can manage,” Brienne replies with a warm smile--she does need to check in on her father too, after all. Robb, who’s learned a few gentleman lessons from his Father, crosses the kitchen to hold the door open for her. 

Down at the hall, Lena also jumps to her feet when she sees Brienne carrying the tray. Brienne’s in two minds about finding her father sleeping. Of course, she knows he needs his rest, and that it’s good to find him getting his well-deserved sleep, but Brienne also would have liked to talk with him for a little while. Get the reassurance, from his lips, that they did the right thing moving across the country and moving in with Jaime and all his family. 

Despite being unable to have that talk with her father, Brienne stays in the room for some minutes. Sitting with her father alone makes her feel a little better, somehow. His condition has always terrified her, she’s always been afraid that he’d be taken away from her within a moment’s notice, but the way he sees the world, the way he endures his condition, has always been soothing for her. 

After more than fifteen minutes, Brienne has to admit to the evidence: her father won’t be waking up any time soon. She bids farewell to Lena and goes to the kitchen, where Jaime and the kids are ready now to go through. She nods to show she’s ready as well and follows them, staying behind to give Gendry a hand. 

At the dining room, she sits opposite to Jaime, at the exact same spot she used to sit, but it’s completely different, now. She’s not a governess anymore, she’s not a simple commoner, she’s not a nobody. Jaime keeps smiling at her across the table, and insists on including her in the conversation, asking her opinion whenever her mouth’s empty or she’s not helping any of the kids with their food. She can’t help but blush under his stare, reminiscing of how much things have changed, how far she and Jaime have gotten, and therefore, their kids. Podrick is included in all the conversations and jokes as well, and Brienne beams every time she sees him talking to everybody, every time she hears him laughing. 

Trying to get the kids to tackle homework seemed an impossible feat and an uphill battle, but somehow, Jaime and Brienne succeed. After resting for a bit, the eight kids sit down at the terrace with their notebooks and textbooks--including Podrick, who never had that amount of summer homework, to begin with--and Jaime joins them all as well to get some work done. This time, albeit he sits again across the table from Brienne, he manages to concentrate. 

About one hour after they settle, Sansa gives Brienne a note, asking to meet inside. Brienne nods at Sansa and tilts her head at Jaime, silently asking if he’ll be alright looking after the kids all by himself. He nods in response, a bit curious about the whole exchange with Sansa, and Brienne leaves the terrace. 

Sansa follows her inside a few minutes later, and they head over the salon, arms linked. They sit on the couch and Brienne can tell right away Ramsay is the subject Sansa wants to bring up, but gives the girl all the time she needs to come up with the words. 

“Fräulein,” she says. “You love Father very much. I can tell you do.” 

Frozen, in shock, Brienne feels the colors rushing to her cheeks. Sansa keeps her eyes locked on hers, looking at her intently as she waits for a response. When did this conversation deviate towards her and her feelings towards Jaime? Did Sansa see the ring by any chance? she wonders briefly, looking down at her hands. No, Brienne did remember to take it from her finger before stepping down the limousine, and Jaime didn't look too disappointed because of it.

Then again, is there any point in hiding it any longer? To all intents and purposes, they’re living together, in the name of the Seven. 

“Very much,” she confesses in the end, a smile she cannot stop showing on her lips. 

“And. . . What do you do when you think you love someone?” Sansa asks, really making it difficult for Brienne. She’s talking about Ramsay, no doubt about it, but. . . Is she truly in love with the boy still? Has she been seeing him all this time? Dammit, with everything else going on, she’d forgotten to keep Sansa on check, or to ask Robb and Jon again to keep an eye on their sister. . . “I mean, when you stop loving someone or he stops loving you?” 

Brienne takes a very deep breath before she answers as honestly as she can--of course, Sansa would come to her with this, she knows she went through several stages of dislike concerning her Father. 

“Well, you cry a little,” she grants. “And then you wait for the sun to come out. It always does.” 

The news doesn’t seem to help her, at all. “There are so many things I think I should know but I don’t,” Sansa complains. 

“How can you?” Brienne sighs deeply. “In all honesty, we all feel that way. I feel that way in my old, ripe age. We’re all lost sometimes.” 

“There are days when I feel like the world is ending,” confesses Sansa. 

“Then you feel it’s just beginning?” Brienne ends for her. 

“Yes!” she nods, beaming for her understanding. Brienne squeezes Sansa’s hand and leans her forehead against Sansa’s. 

“It was like that for me too. And for you, it’ll be just as wonderful, I promise.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

She nods to confirm her statement. “When the right time comes. When the right boy comes.” 

The best way Brienne can think of right now to convey Sansa’s feelings, to explore what she’s going through, and to help her get through all this bloody mess of romance is by the means of a song, and she does exactly that. 

  
_You are sixteen going on seventeen_  
_Waiting for life to start. _  
_Somebody kind who touches your mind_  
_Will suddenly touch your heart. _  
_When that happens, after it happens_  
_Nothing is quite the same_  
_Somehow you find you’ll jump up and go_  
_If ever he calls your name._  
_Gone are your old ideas of life,_  
_The old ideas grow dim. _  
_Lo and behold you share a life,_  
_And you say ‘he’s the one’. _  
_You may think this kind of adventure_  
_Never may come to you_  
_Darling sixteen going on seventeen_  
_Wait a year . . . Or two. . . _  


Sansa clings on every word as if it was King James’ Bible. In the end, she sits a little bit closer, joining in the very last line, confirming that she’ll do just as Brienne asks. 

_I’ll wait a year. . . Or two. . . _

They finish the song in beautiful harmony, forehead to forehead, and Brienne can feel Sansa’s cheeks moist with tears. Brienne gives her all the time she needs to settle. At that moment, Brienne realizes that Sansa is indeed a girl on the edge of becoming a young woman, with all the struggles and worries and doubts it concerns, and that she’s been forced to struggle and muddle through somehow without a mother to lean on. 

_Do I dare take that place? Could I ever? _ Brienne ponders with a little bit of fear, truth be told. 

“Thank you for coming to me with this,” she whispers, putting a loose strand of hair behind her ear. After all, a while back she did ask Sansa to trust her when it came to matters of the heart, and she just did, even though Brienne never truly believed she would. It would seem they’re all making progress this past couple of days. 

A few minutes later, their conversation wrapped up, they return to the terrace. She can tell Sansa’s not truly feeling up to doing any more homework, and Brienne has no desire of forcing them to endure such a task any longer--at least not today, the same day she returns to Salzburg and make peace with the kids. 

Her suggestion of having an impromptu singing lesson meets no opposition, not even from Jaime, who insists on staying on the terrace ‘working’. Arya rushes to get Brienne’s guitar for the chours session, which of course, Podrick joins in too. They begin with ‘The Hills Are Alive’ and Brienne is quite impressed, and flattered, to see that they have indeed been practicing while she was away. They sound so good. Not that they didn’t before, but now they sing with more confidence than they used to, and they’re not afraid to try new things, such as trying different octaves in order to create beautiful harmonies. Her assessment by the end of the lesson is that yes, they’re more than ready to participate in the Festival; and that yes, they should most certainly participate in the Festival, Jaime permits. 

“What was that with Sansa earlier?” Jaime asks a few hours later. They’ve already put the kids to sleep, and Tyrion has shut himself in his room right after dinner, so they’re the only ones remaining in the salon, and that’s why Jaime pours them a couple of drinks. “What was going on?” 

“Again, Mr. Lannister, I believe you should talk to your daughter,” Brienne replies, accepting the glass of wine without protests. 

“What am I missing?” he insists, taking the first sip of wine. “Something serious I need to worry about?” 

“I don’t think so, no,” Brienne shakes her head, sipping her wine too. The situation seems to have been defused at long last, with Sansa understanding she needs not only to keep her distance with Ramsay, but to nip that relationship in the bud. Knowing that, Brienne feels much at ease now, and only slightly guilty for not explaining it all to Jaime. There’s no reason for concern anymore, after all. 

“You’re really not going to tell me, just to protect her?” Jaime presses. 

“I’m protecting the trust she deposited in me, that is all,” Brienne shrugs. “Just so I know, are you going to pester me with that question for much longer?” 

“Okay, you’re right,” sighs Jaime, apologetic tone. “Why won’t you come to my room tonight?” 

That subtle way of changing the subject, and yet keep pestering her with unnerving questions, makes Brienne burst out laughing. Jaime takes the glass of wine from her hands before she spills any of it--or all its contents--and she can see he’s smiling, too. Never expected her to give in at the first try. 

“You know why,” she says, taking back her glass. 

“I do,” nods Jaime, sitting on the couch. “And I’m going to give you all the time and space that you need, I just. . . I just needed to ask.” 

His soft voice, the shy smile on his lips, the pleading in his eyes, and the way the light glimmers in that golden hair of his. . . It all almost makes Brienne’s convictions go out of the window right here and now. Seven Hells, she’s aching. She hasn’t tried hiding or denying it, and Jaime must know what he’s doing to her right now. . . But she can’t. 

“I’m glad that you did,” she promises. “But, Jaime, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable here--” 

“And you’re not,” he promises instantly, smug all of a sudden, confirming that he was totally trying to convince her by seducing her. He finishes his drink and stands, reaching out his good hand. “I’ll walk you, come on.” 

Brienne also finishes her wine, lays the glass back on the counter of the drinks cabinet, and then takes Jaime’s arm. They walk in silence through the semi-darkness of the house, no more arguments to have, no more things to fix, no more songs to sing. 

According to Lena, Selwyn was awake part of the afternoon, but is now sleeping again. Jaime stands by the threshold as Brienne and Lena catch up, and then Brienne gives him a goodnight kiss before she settles down on the couch. Jaime’s heart clenches at Brienne attempting to sleep in such an uncomfortable way--although it can’t come anywhere close to the couch in her apartment, his back can vouch for that--but he knows there’s nothing he can say that’ll drag Brienne back to her room to get a full night’s sleep. After a few more minutes, knowing the family will appreciate some shade of privacy, he retreats silently and climbs up the stairs to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sixten Going On Seventeen_ isn't one of my favorite songs in the movie to be honest. It does correspond to the time the movie was set in, but I didn't feel it was appropriate for a 21st-century story where a woman's job is to wait for a man to sweep her off her feet and depend solely on him to know what to do and what to say. That being said, this scene is a very beautiful bonding moment between Brienne and Sansa (Maria and Liesl in the original movie), so I figured I'd add it, too !! 
> 
> It is worth mentioning that the dance sequence of _Sixten Going On Seventeen_ in the movie is BEAUTIFUL and if you've got the chance, you need to check it out !!!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last day of holidays brings around many games, riding, songs. . . And a few surprises, too ! (Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )

When Brienne wakes up the next morning, she does so with a broad smile on her lips, for her father’s up and awake, and having a plentiful breakfast. Lena gives her no indications to believe he’s had a bad night and failed to wake her up. 

“Hey, Brinny,” he greets her. “You shouldn’t have slept here for me. Couldn’t you have found a nice and comfy bed anywhere around this huge mansion?” 

“Oh, nevermind me. I see you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, turns out sleep isn’t overrated after all. Why don’t you lie down for a bit and catch up on some, huh? You needn’t spend the whole night here.” 

“I slept alright, Dad. And I must see to the kids,” says Brienne, swallowing back a yawn. 

“Speaking of,” says Selwyn as Brienne stands and folds the blanket she slept on, “was it the children I heard singing yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes, they were,” nods Brienne. “Not bad, huh?” 

“If they truly didn’t know anything about music and singing before you came around, yes, I must say, you did a wonderful job with them,” Selwyn approves, pride in his voice. “I truly cannot understand how children can be raised without music in their lives.”

“Dad,” complains Brienne. She agrees wholeheartedly, but she didn’t bring her father here so he could just criticize all of Jaime’s doing. After losing his wife to cancer, he raised seven children all on his own, to the best of his abilities and knowledge and family values. It may not excuse the lack of love and caring the children lacked throughout their childhood, but Brienne understands it all better now. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “Listen, bring them here if they need to practice more, I’d love to hear them.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” promises Brienne. “If you don’t need me, I’ll go take a shower and check in on you later.”

“Go do whatever it is you need to do, don’t worry about me,” says Selwyn, accepting a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’m alright, Miss Tarth, thank you,” Lena says before Brienne asks if she can do anything for her. 

Finally, the last piece falls into place. The Lannister kids were happy to have her back. Podrick seemed to have fun yesterday, and the kids welcomed him as well wonderfully. Her relationship with Jaime will most certainly improve and grow stronger by living together. The only piece of the puzzle that she was still worried about last night before turning in was, in fact, her father. But after that conversation, Brienne feels much better, elated. Maybe, even, happy. 

Just because of proximity reasons, she takes a change of clothes and showers in the bathroom across from her father’s room. Afterwards, Brienne falls back to her usual routine to wake the children up and have them brush their teeth and change for their breakfast. Albeit Jaime made it clear he didn’t want her back as a governess, it wouldn’t feel right for her not to do all those chores--back at home, after all, she still would have to fight Podrick to get him out of bed. On the second hand, today starts her job hunting here in Salzburg, too. 

Down at the kitchen, the morning routine begins with all the children jabbering and yelling and joking over breakfast, including Podrick hismelf, alas. As if he was another Lannister, he fights with Brandon over the carton of milk, and has to wait in line for his toasts. As she adds the sugar for her coffee, Brienne can’t just help but smile at the scene. . . 

Although her good humor vanishes as soon as she takes the first sip of coffee, which tastes all wrong, and she almost wants to puke. 

Unable to stop herself and show some restraint in front of the kids, she spits what she’d sipped on the sink and stays there, hand covering her mouth, in case she did want to throw up. The coffee, usually excellent, was awfully dreadful this morning. Did she taste salt…? 

Dropping the coffee mug, she looks over to the jars of sugar and milk. Was she so distracted that she got them mixed up? It would be the first time this happens to her, even though the two jars are sitting one next to the other, she didn’t sleep that bad. 

Just to be sure, she opens the sugar jar and uses her little finger to try a bit of the white condiment. It is indeed salt. And another trial tells her that there’s sugar in the jar labeled as salt. Did Mia or Emma mess up while refilling the jars? 

_Might have been too tired, _she sighs, taking the coffee mug, pouring all the coffee down the sink. She opens the faucet to rinse the mug and attempt to make herself another coffee, but then the water comes out all wrong--dark maroon, almost black. 

“What the hell?” 

“And good morning to you, too,” Jaime greets, stepping into the kitchen, sleep in his eyes. There’s something different about him today, but she can’t quite put her finger on it, for she’s still concerned about the dark water from the sink. 

“Look at this,” she complains. 

“Oh, not here too,” groans Jaime, fully awake now, leaning to examine the water. 

“Here too?” demands Brienne. 

“Yeah, this happened in my bathroom, too. Both the shower and the sink. I’m guessing there’s a problem with the pipes, or something.” 

“Such a professional assessment,” Brienne approves. 

“I’ll call a technician later,” sighs Jaime. He dares to lay his hand under the water and it comes pitch dark as well, as if the results couldn’t have been predicted before the experiment. He turns off the water as Brienne grabs a cloth to dry his hand herself. The proximity allows him to take in her damp hair and her scent. “You took a shower before all of this happened?” 

“I guess so,” nods Brienne. “I did shower in the bathroom down the hall.” 

Someone snaps their fingers down the table, and when Brienne and Jaime look back at the children, they’re just in time to catch Rickon slamming his fist too close to his glass of milk, and the beverage spills all over the table. Jaime and Brienne move in to clean it up, the former taking the glass over to the sink to wash it. . . Until the dark stream of water starts flowing. 

“Dammit,” he scowls, turning off the water again. 

“You kids didn’t have that problem in your bathrooms, did you?” asks Brienne. She figures they would have told her. 

“We didn’t, Fräulein,” says Jon, making Brienne feel uneasy--not because of the problems with the water, but because of that title. They’re all going to have to sit down and have a talk concerning their new roles around the house. . . In due time. She cannot fathom having that conversation today, so soon. 

“Well, be as it may, no using tap water until a technician comes to take a look at this,” Jaime forbids in a scowl. “I think we should have enough mineral water for today, but we can go to the stores if need be. 

“I need coffee,” he sighs, going straight towards the half-empty coffee machine. Only when he reaches out for the sugar does Brienne remember the inconvenience she suffered from her drink and is fast enough to stop Jaime before he makes the same mistake that she did. 

“Take that one,” she instructs, pointing at the salt jar. 

“What are you talking--”

Trusting Brienne with his life--otherwise known as the first coffee of the day--he dips his little finger on the sugar salt and confirms that it is indeed salt instead of sugar. Just to make sure, he tries as well the so-labeled salt jar, frowning in confusion when he does confirm it is sugar. 

He proceeds to add two spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, still understanding nothing. He then takes the remote to turn on the TV up in the wall, despite his prohibition of watching TV during any meals, just as Brienne leans on the countertop to prepare herself another coffee. But two seconds later, she’s startled by another scowl that escapes Jaime’s lips. 

“For the Forgotten Gods, is there _ anything_ that works properly in this house?” 

Brienne frowns at the TV, which, sure enough, hasn’t turned on and isn’t showing any news channels. She takes the remote from Jaime’s hands before he smashes it against the countertop and gives it another try--with the same success. However, her reaction is opposite to Jaime’s. He cannot, for the life of him, understand the small grin on Brienne’s lips as she puts down the remote and checks her watch. 

“Robb, would you mind taking care of that, please?” she asks, her voice soft and mellow. 

Upon that, Jaime just frowns at Brienne, and then at Robb too, since the boy, without a single complaint, head dropped, stands and heads for the TV. He climbs up on a stool and reaches for the corner of the TV, taking something off. . . Jaime can only identify what it is when Robb walks past him to throw that little piece of cellophane to the garbage can. 

The realization gets Jaime to close his eyes and breathe very deeply a few times, assessing his response. Brienne’s hiding an unwilling smirk behind her coffee mug, and the kids have a hard time holding back their laughter. Facing all of that, Jaime can barely get mad at the children because of all their pranks, even though they’ve outdone themselves so early in the morning: the sugar, the water, the TV. . . 

“Okay, kids,” Brienne calls out. “You’ve had your fun. I was going to suggest we could go riding this morning, this being your last day of summer holidays and all that. . . But we’re going nowhere until you’ve fixed everything.” 

Without a word of complaint, the children leave their seats and file out of the kitchen. They don’t get very far, however: a few beats later, Jaime and Brienne hear them roaring with laughter, dropping to the floor. The two adults can barely keep straight faces, either, but make an effort until the children settle and do leave. 

“I see your kid has wasted no time joining in my kids’ shenanigans,” Jaime points out then. 

“And yours needed all of twelve hours to completely corrupt mine,” Brienne retorts, but at that, they, also, burst out laughing. 

“Well, like it or not, I’m guessing it’s a good sign, that they’re pranking us together already.” 

“I suppose it is,” nods Brienne. She leans against Jaime’s chest and he welcomes her in, surrounding her with his right arm--she isn’t so high up in his priorities to make him forget and put down the coffee mug. 

They stand there for a couple of minutes, not hearing them but assuming that the children are coming and going all around the house to fix everything they messed up last night. For all their talk, Brienne does thank the Lannister kids for welcoming Podrick so warmly and including him in their shenanigans, straight on. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” says Jaime then. “Taking care of them. I could hire. . .” 

“A governess?” she supplies. Jaime tilts his head, displeased with the suggestion himself too, but without knowing what else to do. He’s relied on governesses for so long to look after the children, hoping one would somehow manage to discipline the children and make everything better, and now he’s at a loss. “Big shoes to follow.” 

“Humongous,” he nods against her shoulder. 

“Don’t you think it’d be a bit too confusing for them all?” asks Brienne. 

“They’re smart kids, they’ll figure it out. But you’re not staying here because I pay you to take care of them anymore--” 

“No, I am not,” Brienne confirms, the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. 

“I don’t want any confusion about our roles around here,” he says in the end. 

“And there aren’t. I think we all know I’m not staying here in the capacity of a governess for the children--them included. Nevertheless, I’m happy to look after them, Jaime. Of course, I am, don’t ever doubt that for a minute. And, if I may be so bold. . . I really think we all deserve some adjustment time for everything to settle down. It’d be good if nothing around here changed again for just a couple of days.” 

“You have way too much faith in the members of this family,” Jaime points out, raising an eyebrow. “Two days without nothing happening? What you’re looking for, is called a miracle.” 

“No, Mr. Lannister, it is not. I said two days without changes, not two uneventful days. With eight children in our care, there will _never_ be a peaceful day in our lives. Not unless we go on some sort of vacation, just the two of us, far away from here.” 

That intriguing idea brings a smirk on Jaime’s lips, as he puts down his coffee and wraps his arms around Brienne. 

“Sounds tempting,” he says. 

Brienne’s head shoots back as she bursts out laughing and, once more, Jaime can categorically say that her laughter is one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard--it makes him crack up as well, after trying to hold back for all of two seconds. 

“Didn’t I just say no more changes around here?” she demands. 

“Fine,” he scowls, retreating. “We’ll wait. But I don’t make any promises, I don’t know how much I can hold out.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find the strength,” Brienne says, giving him one last kiss. “Now, don’t you have work to do?” 

“Leaving,” promises Jaime before Brienne chastises him, too. He takes back his mug and steps back, as Brienne leans on the countertop to finish her coffee as well. But then he stops under the threshold, looking at her, taking her all in. His staring makes her blush and smiles against the coffee mug, making Jaime's smile grow bigger still in turn. 

“Did you want something?” she asks. 

“Don’t forget your riding clothes.” 

Again, making Brienne laugh is a personal success for Jaime, and he leans onto the threshold for dear life itself. “Oh, I’m taking the bike, thank you very much.” 

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” he promises. 

“Maybe. Not today, though,” she replies, shaking her head. “Will you leave at some point today?” 

Fighting back a laughing fit, or perhaps another apology, Jaime vanishes without another word, and Brienne listens his footsteps getting further and further away. Soon enough, she doesn’t hear either Jaime or the kids, and since she’s got no idea how long will the children need to fix everything around the house, she just goes ahead and returns to her father’s room. He’s staring out the windows, but he hasn’t fallen asleep again, and greets her with a broad smile. 

“Thought you were tending to the kids?” Selwyn asks, inviting her in. 

“We’re leaving in just a few minutes,” replies Brienne, sitting back on the couch, crossing her legs. She and her father have spent one too many hours alone at the hospital, or at home, with her looking after Selwyn, to feel the need to fill the silence with unnecessary words or questions. Selwyn’s doing as best as he can do, and he already knows Podrick’s fine, too, even with being a stranger in this household--not a stranger anymore, however. 

Brienne follows her father’s gaze and stares at the landscape beyond the terrace. It is an amazing house with amazing grounds, she thinks, with the green grounds, the lake by the end and the sun glimmering on its perfectly still surface, the chirping and tweeting of birds the only noises that reach the room. Could she be lucky enough to live here? With Jaime? With all of their kids, Podrick included? With her father, who’s finally receiving the proper care she’d struggled for so long to get him? 

Two soft knocks pull her back from her thoughts and reveries. She turns around to expect Podrick, the words ‘you don’t need to knock’ at the tip of her tongue, but it’s not only her child there on the threshold--it’s also Sansa, Gendry, and Robb. 

“Hello, everyone,” her father greets warmly. 

“Sorry to disturb, Mr. Tarth,” says Sansa, without truly daring to step in. 

“Selwyn, please,” replies the patient, waving the title away with his hands. “Don’t make me repeat myself every time we talk. It was difficult enough to get your father to be on a first-name basis with me. 

“Pod, come here,” he orders. 

Upon that invitation, Podrick finally steps into the room, meets his grandfather, and sits on the bedside, taking Selwyn’s hands--unsure of what he can or cannot do, lest Selwyn gives them all a scare again. But Selwyn just tickles him on the side, at that spot he knows fully well how to locate, and soon enough Podrick’s laughing out loud, too. 

Brienne looks around and is pleased to see that, just as seeing Podrick happy makes her happy as well, it seems to have the same effect when it comes to the other kids--they look at Podrick and his grandfather with as much joy as she’s feeling right now. It’s contagious, just like whenever one of the Lannister siblings is having a great time, it seems to fill in everybody’s hearts too. Brienne doesn’t want to read too much into it, not right now, but she dares to ponder if the Lannister children could come to consider Podrick a member of the family, as well. 

“We came to steal Miss Tarth,” says Robb with a quiet voice. 

“She promised we’d spend the morning out,” Gendry says. 

“Lest she’s needed here,” insists Sansa. 

“No, she’s not,” Selwyn promises in lieu of Brienne or nurse Lena. “In fact, you’d be doing me a great personal favor if you’d take my daughter away and ensured she got distracted for a little while. How ‘bout it, huh?” he asks Podrick. 

“Will do!” nods the boy, jumping off the bed. He takes Brienne’s hand without letting her argue and drags her across the room to meet the three Lannister children. The other four were waiting outside in the hall, respecting Selwyn’s need to rest. 

“Let’s go!” yells Arya, leading the way out. 

Without releasing his hold on Brienne, Podrick follows their suit on their jog across the Manor to go outside to the gardens, although they could have left through the terrace on Selwyn’s room. At some point, Brienne gets her hand back and allows the kids to run along in front of her, delightfully enjoying the sunny day out on their last day of holidays, without showing any remorse because of the pranks they pulled earlier--Brienne couldn’t bring herself to chastise them for it, either. 

She does stop and turns her back to the kids for a few instants, however. Covering her eyes with her hands from the glazing sun reflected on the windows, she locates Selwyn’s room on the ground floor, as well as Jaime’s chambers and his study. Being completely honest, she would like to see them both again, before spending the whole day with the kids. Just to make sure that Selwyn’s alright, and to reassure herself that Jaime’s not going anywhere. However, she’s too far away to see either man even if they were standing right behind the windows. Some part of her believes that at this exact moment, Jaime is looking out his window at her too, and, however implausible as that is, she feels content with that. 

Soon, Brienne realizes that instead of worrying about Selwyn or Jaime, she should have been paying attention to what the children were doing. They got to the stables way ahead of her, and by the time she reaches the barn. . . Well, Podrick’s already on top of Mendel. 

“Hey, hold on!!” she shrieks, grabbing Mendel’s reigns before Podrick runs off somewhere. 

The boy, however, looks so damn excited up there, so eager to ride a horse for the first time, that Brienne cannot bring herself to stop him. It is a mother’s job to protect her child, but her fears cannot stop him from trying new experiences, much less having fun. She’s taken so much of his childhood already, it’s high time he gets some of that back. 

“Strap correctly, please,” she begs, checking Pod’s helmet. 

Podrick leans forward so Brienne can reach the straps better and giggles after she taps on the helmet. That was just an excuse, of course--she’s certain whoever helped the boy onto the horse did a marvelous job. But all around her, she can almost hear the collective sigh of relief at her not stopping Podrick from riding. 

“Lower your hands,” she gives Pod one of the few instructions she remembers, while caressing Mendel’s crin. “Relax your hold onto the reigns. Not too tight, not too loose.” 

After that, Robb comes around and grabs a hold of Mendel’s reigns as well, to lead the horse out of the barn and give Podrick some more instructions. Jon presents Brienne with one of the cycles, making her laugh out of relief in turn, and he carries it out for her. All the kids are slowly filing out to the gardens, eager to properly enjoy their last day of holidays, but Brienne stops Sansa before she follows all of her siblings. 

“No acrobatics or incidents today, please,” begs Brienne in a low voice. She’s not stopping Pod, but she’s not risking his neck unnecessarily by having the older and most experienced kids showing off and risking Pod trying to follow their example. 

Sansa understands Brienne’s feelings, as she doesn’t need a second to ponder her answer. “Of course, Fräulein.” 

With that reassurance, knowing she can trust Sansa after everything they’ve been through, Brienne meets all the kids outside. The Lannister children are still giving Podrick indications on how to ride Mendel, taking it easy just as they did with her back in the day, and have Mendel walking in circles so Podrick can get a feel of the rhythm. He seems to be doing great up there--much better than Brienne ever did--and he simply cannot stop giggling. How could she stop him? 

Jon comes around with her bicycle and smiles at her reassuringly, without putting her on the spot, either. Flustered, hoping Pod cannot see the mild fright in her eyes, she grabs the cycle and checks the seat’s height. She then lays on the casket the satchel with snacks, bottles of water, and pieces of fruit Mia helped her pack. 

“Well, are we all ready?” she yells afterwards. 

“YES!” eight voices answer. 

“Gendry?” she presses specifically, albeit knowing what his answer will be. 

“I am, Fräulein,” he nods. Brienne will have to make do with that answer, for no one wants Gendry’s stupid wound to screw up today’s plans. 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Albeit she hasn’t lived in this Manor and within these grounds all her life and doesn’t know the area as well as the Lannister kids, she does lead the way. She knows Pod won’t enjoy the day out as much as he could if she spends the whole morning looking after him over the shoulder--even though that’s what she’s going to do all morning long--and also knows that he’ll be safer taking instructions from the Lannister children. 

They all prove worthy of her trust and faith. As scared as Brienne was, Jon stays by her side to reassure her time and time again that Podrick’s in good hands. Behind her back, she can hear the children easying all of Podrick’s worries and giving him all sorts of tidbits. Arya’s taking a special interest in Podrick performing marvelously today, and Brienne can only assume it’s due because the girl does not want Podrick to suffer a fall and an injury as severe and traumatic as the one she suffered, years back. Remembering that does not do well with Brienne’s nervousness, but Jon keeps her occupied by showing her how much some trees the neighbors planted have grown. 

All in all, they manage to muddle through a stroll by the lake without any accidents whatsoever, and despite Brienne’s ever-present fears, she definitely calls that a win. As the morning progresses, she starts to calm down, and considers she might even get to enjoy the trip back to the Manor. 

For now, however, after more than an hour and a half of exercise, she decides that they all deserve a break and a second breakfast. Everyone agrees and mounts down off their horses or cycles. Brienne cannot stop herself from laughing when Podrick complains about a sore ass and sore feet--he’s going to remember this stroll come morning, he is. At the very least he can get some rest now. 

“Gendry, how’s your ankle?” 

“It’s fine, Fräulein,” says he, avoiding her eye by tickling Arya’s side and making her roar with laughter. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me like a certain older brother I know of, would you?” Brienne presses. 

“No,” says Gendry, but Brienne knows for a fact that he is absolutely lying, given the look Robb exchanges with his younger brother. What is it with this family and doctors, she prays? What is she missing? Or is it just plain stubbornness?

“Here,” she says, handing Brandon an apple. The boy’s dozing off from tiredness and needs to be told twice by his siblings to grab the apple Brienne handed him. Dear Gods, how many hours did they scrape by in order to pull those pranks? sighs Brienne, taking a good look at Rickon’s bags under his eyes, the fact that Gendry keeps yawning, or that Arya keeps pinching herself on the arm to stay awake. Well, they brought this upon themselves, and Brienne isn’t going to do or say anything about it. 

“Robb, ham sandwich?” she asks. At him nodding, she throws it to him across the circle. 

They don’t say much during their breakfast, other than the kids pointing out the houses around the lake and informing Podrick of the neighbor’s names. Their stories and gossip will come another day, for they’re all too beat to go into such detail. 

  
_The hills are alive with the sound of music. . . _  
_With songs they have sung for a thousand years. _  
_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music _  
_My heart wants to sing every song it hears. . . _  


Podrick’s the first one to burst into song, just a couple of lines, but then Brandon and Rickon, seated by Podrick’s sides, join in for the second verse, and then the rest of the children pick it up. Brienne, missing her guitar so damn much, joins as well, directing the children into canon or splitting Sansa, Rickon, and Brandon, with higher voices, to create a second theme. 

After finishing the song, following Brienne’s directions, they all smile and nod at each other, proud at the result of their singing. They do make a wonderful choir, their eyes seem to say, and Brienne would totally agree. They’re improving each passing day and it’s a shame Jaime cannot see it. Next, they move onto the next song of their repertoire for the Festival. 

  
_“Doe,” a deer, a female deer,_  
_“Ray,” a drop of golden sun _  
_“Me,” a name I call myself _  


They’re all still uncertain about Jaime allowing the kids to perform, he hasn’t given them an official ‘yes’ just yet, but if it were up to them, the kids would sign into any and every singing Festival and choir that takes place in all of Austria, if allowed. Brienne’s hopeful Jaime will see reason and make the right choice, but part of her is fearful that he won’t. He’s made so much progress with his kids so far, but maybe not that much. 

For now, she doesn’t want to worry the children with those thoughts, and they keep on singing on and on, even on their way back to the Manor. Brienne doesn’t approve of Podrick taking such risks as singing while riding, but he is her son after all, and no force on Earth could compel him to stop singing with his found siblings. He never gives her reason to freak out either, albeit Brienne only breathes freely as soon as she sees him safe and sound on the ground. 

Back to the house, since they’re all famished, they beg Mia and Emma for an early lunch, and before eating, Brienne sends the kids off to shower and change out of their sweaty clothes. All alone, the temptation’s too strong, and she just needs to check the living room very briefly, then the Library--some part of her hoped Jaime would have stayed behind to tackle his work at the Manor, just to be closer to her. But, of course, he didn’t, and she never asked him to, nor should have. They are not bloody teenagers in love, for Pete’s sake. 

After changing herself too, she goes down to the kitchen, and realizes she’s taken too long. Not only have the kids had the time to shower, change, and reconvene, but Brienne also catches them leaving the kitchen, with Sansa and Robb on the lead carrying a tray of food. There’s no question who the food is for, and the gesture surprises Brienne so much that she just follows them in silence, some steps behind. 

Sure enough, the kids head towards Selwyn’s room to deliver his lunch--and, more than twenty-four hours after his arrival--officially meet him. Podrick introduces all of the Lannister kids and they, in turn, walk up to Selwyn’s bedside to shake his hand. Without fail, the man pulls each of them to present each with a hug, a gesture that shocks all of their systems and beliefs. Propriety would indicate that when meeting someone as senior as Selwyn, they should talk and behave respectfully. Leaving their distance, acting like the heirs to the Lannister Empire, backs straight, voices measured. . . But they clearly have never met Selwyn Tarth. 

Within minutes, not only Podrick, but also Rickon and Bran have been invited over to the king-sized bed, whatever complaints Lena had. They’re all roaring with laughter as Selwyn explains embarrassing stories about Brienne, a few about Podrick, and the Lannister children share some of their own, too. Somehow Selwyn got a word of the kids' shenanigans this morning and is sharing totally uncalled tips for them to use in the future, which will only bring nightmares to Jaime and Brienne, she fears--but she’s got no plans of stopping the conversation whatsoever. 

Leaning against the hall wall, she watches the scene she’d never hoped she’d see after Jaime popped up at Vienna. Her son pranking and having fun with the Lannister kids. Her father, however weak or tired, being entertained by and at the same time entertaining the Lannister kids--and his jokes don’t even resemble all of Jaime’s lame bad puns he delivers every now and then, her father’s managing to get a good laugh out of all eight kids. 

Selwyn’s tray of food forgotten, when the conversation turns towards singing, Brienne knows she needs to intervene or else no one in the house will have their dinner before tomorrow morning. 

“There’ll be time for singing later,” she says, stepping into the room. 

Selwyn had seen her standing there ages ago, but the kids--all eight of them--turn around in fright. Maybe what they had in mind was only a two-minute stop to diver Selwyn’s lunch and introduce themselves, but they’ve completely lost track of time, and now they’ve been busted. Brienne keeps on a warm smile on her face to show that she doesn’t mind at all and to show that she’s not going to tell them off for it. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

“Maybe after we’ve eaten and you’ve gotten some rest,” she asks Selwyn, leaning against the canopy. 

“All I’ve done is rest! We could at the very least have lunch together!” 

Despite his complaints, Brienne knows better--the conversation, trying to soothe Podrick’s worries, has left her father close to exhausted. He does need some peace and quiet if they’re to bother him again later with their repertoire. 

“Perhaps dinner,” she bargains. “Kids, your lunch will get cold.” 

Understanding that’s their queue to get out of there, all the kids bid Selwyn goodbye, Sansa and Robb give Brandon and Rickon a hand to jump off Selwyn’s bed, and leave the bedroom. Podrick, however, lingers. He’s jumped off the bed along with Rick and Brandon, but stays behind, looking at his grandfather. 

“Pod, you’ll see me later,” Selwyn promises with a broad smile. “Now, you won’t let the others finish all that food on their own, will you?”

It’d be a compelling argument for any kid to run off to the kitchen and get his piece of the cake from lunch, but not Podrick, just because he does know how severe his grandfather’s condition is. He walks out of the room very slowly, as if suspicious of his mother and grandfather. Only after Podrick’s long gone does Brienne take a deep breath, running a hand through her golden hair. 

“He’s still scared,” she says. 

“Which is understandable,” says Selwyn softly. “Not even two weeks ago I scarred him.” 

“Don’t say that, Dad, please,” begs Brienne. “You did nothing of that sort. He’s scared that you’ll get worse again overnight, of course, but you scarred no one. He’s a tough lad.” 

“Yeah, well, I wonder who he got that from.” 

Selwyn delights himself in seeing his daughter blush at his praise, as she drops her head to stare at her feet. He just laughs it off. 

“Go eat something too, honey,” he advises. “I’ll see you later.” 

Brienne nods in agreement and then heads over to the kitchen. There, she finds out that none of the kids have yet started eating, for they were waiting for her--and she appreciates and values the effort it took to keep Arya from eating when she’s hungry. Brienne greets them all, sits down at her spot, and reaches for the bottle of water. . . Surprised that they’re still waiting for her permission. Considering how they put her and Jaime through hell this morning, she’s almost waiting for the fridge to explode. 

“Well, dig in,” she says. 

She doesn’t need to repeat her instructions, and next second, Hell unleashes. Brienne doesn’t mind the chatter, the laughter, or the arguments, and would never dream of forcing them to keep quiet. 

After lunch, there are only two reasons why they don’t stay with Selwyn: he’s fallen asleep, and Lena throws them out before they can wake him up. And so, they accept the alternative of spending some time indulging in their favorite hobbies: reading for Sansa and Bran, playing chess for Robb and Jon, drawing and painting for Rickon, making crafts for Gendry with Arya’s help. As per Podrick, he joins in the reading club, and so does Brienne. 

Having all the kids occupied, Brienne can’t help but take out her cellphone and text Jaime, only to find out that he texted her first. It’s stupid, she knows, but the fact that he was thinking of her just as much as she was thinking of him, makes her smile. And blush some more. 

**Jaime:** `how’re the kids? `  
**Brienne:** `having a marvelous time. `  
**Brienne:** ` I’m kinda sad they’re starting school tomorrow. Is that wrong? `  
**Jaime:** `a little bit. All parents look forward to the end of the summer hols. `  
**Brienne:** `well, I’m not most parents. `  
**Jaime:** ` don’t I know it. `  
**Jaime:** `and couldn’t be prouder. `  
**Brienne:** `how’s work?`  
**Jaime:** `boring. Exhausting. `  
**Brienne:** `well then, come home! `  
**Brienne:** ` we miss you here. . . `

She takes a look around, making sure the kids are busy with their chores, although she’s certain someone must have noticed her blush by now. She pulls through sending one more text. 

**Brienne:** ` I miss you. . . `

After that stupid confession, she puts the phone away before she reads what Jaime’s response is. She returns to her book, but Dostoyevsky proves difficult to focus on given her erratic heartbeat and blushed cheeks. Now she knows for a fact all of the kids have realized what’s going on with her. 

She pretends to read a page--an effort that takes her about five whole minutes--before she plucks up her courage to check her text messages, but Jaime hasn’t answered. It makes her heart stop. Even taking into account his slow texting pace without his hand, he should have been able to answer by now. Was it too cheesy? Did she go too far? Was it the wrong thing to say? Did she put Jaime on the spot? Is he upset or angry at her now?

Things should be easier, she scowls, putting the phone away. She’d expected these sorts of worries in a teenager’s romance, back in the day, but not now, in her adult life. Why are some things so damn difficult? 

When, after more than half an hour, she’s yet to receive any response from Jaime, she decides to send him another text and pray the Gods she gets it right this time. 

**Brienne:** ` I’m so sorry. `

She sees Jaime typing an answer right away, and awaits, her heart in a fist. 

**Jaime:** `what on Earth are you apologizing for, Miss Tarth? `

Before she starts typing an explanation, or excuses herself so she can call Jaime and give a justification, or give up entirely and turn off her phone, they hear a car pulling up. It can only be Christopher, which doesn’t make any sense for him to come back so early, without Jaime. Unless he has returned with Jaime, which doesn’t make any sense either. It’s way too early for him to. . . 

“Hello, hello!” Just as Brienne was listing on her mind all the reasons why Jaime shouldn’t even be in the vicinity, they hear his voice rising from the entrance. 

“Father!” the kids shout, their heads rising and turning towards the door as dogs attracted to food. 

“Can’t be,” scowls Arya, shaking her head and waving the idea away with her hand. 

“Yes, it is! It’s Father!” yells Rickon, jumping to his feet. 

“What is he doing here?” ponders Jon, checking with Sansa and Robb in case they’ve got any answers. They shrug and stand as well, oblivious to what on Earth their Father’s doing back home so soon. 

Dropping their books and their games, they run out of the living room, Podrick included, to meet Jaime at the entrance hall. Unsure of what’s going on, Brienne follows slower, more collected, her mood drastically different to the children’s cheers for having Jaime home so early, and him hugging each of his kids in turn. 

“Figured I could spend some quality time with you on your last day of holidays,” he says. 

“But you never do that,” Gendry remarks. 

“Well, lots of things are changing around here,” says Jaime with a forced chuckle. He then looks up at Brienne, who’s yet to say a nice thing, or even a welcome, to Jaime. He understands the conundrum and gives Brienne the chance to speak her mind freely, by getting rid of the kids momentarily. “Come on, football game in ten.” 

“Yes!” agrees every kid, and they run off outside. “Football game!!” 

“What’s going on, Brinny?” asks Jaime softly, saving the distance between them. “You don’t look like the woman who just texted that she missed me.” 

“Is that why you’re back?” she scoffs with a roll of eyes. 

“Well, I missed you lot,” sighs Jaime, cupping her cheek with tender. “I couldn’t stay at the office for a minute longer, away from you. Especially not after that text you sent me, I almost skipped the meeting I was sitting in and jumped out of the window.”

“That doesn’t seem like the smartest business move coming from a CEE,” she points out. “I appreciate you making the big gesture, Jaime, of course, I do, I missed you too way too much, but your company--”

“Come on, coming back was the smartest move a father could do,” Jaime replies. “Didn’t you see their faces?” 

Jaime’s as enthralled to be here with his family as the children were two minutes ago. Who is she to tell him what’s wrong and right? She did set this whole wheel in motion by confessing she missed him--and she really did. She cannot berate Jaime for acting on it, even if it was the last thing she had on her mind. The kids, including Podrick, didn’t seem to mind having him around, too. 

“Oh, well,” she sighs. “I suppose we have a match to play now, haven’t we?” 

“Right you are,” nods Jaime. He rests an arm around her shoulders and kisses her on the cheek before they head outside. 

They soon find out that the kids didn’t wait for them sitting idly by. They’ve taken two small goals from the Gods know where from the Manor and used branches, ties, and jackets to limit the field. Now, they’re training with different footballs: Arya, Podrick, Bran, and Robb are throwing one of the balls to each other, with Sansa in the middle of the circle trying to snatch it; Gendry’s bouncing another ball on top of his head over and over; Rickon is aiming at scoring a goal with Jon as the goalkeeper. As soon as the two adults show up, they split into two teams--five members each--and set off to play, without ever giving Jaime or Brienne any time to warm up. 

They play for almost two hours. Forgetting about Selwyn’s condition, about Gendry’s injury, or all of their chores and obligations starting tomorrow morning, they forget about all of that and just thrive into the game. Chivalry soon enough becomes a competition and at some point, even Jaime starts to fear they’ve forgotten they’re all members of the same family. The only precaution they take and never forget is to have Gendry as the goalkeeper for the whole match, preventing him from running to and fro. If she had the power, Brienne would have preferred sending him to the Manor to rest, but she knew in advance no threats or bargaining would keep him locked inside the house today. Against her better judgment, she keeps quiet, but does her damn best as her team’s defender in order to avoid Gendry’s injury getting worse. 

More than equally matched, each one of them needs to bring their A-game. Whenever possible, Brienne tackles Jaime, then Jon. Rickon and Bran have their speed and agility at their advantage. Arya and Robb have years of practice and trained tactics at their backs. They wouldn’t have it any other way, of course, and while running, attacking, or defending, they still laugh at everybody’s tactics, sometimes clumsiness, and celebrate each goal, friend or foe. 

It is Gendry, as a matter of fact, the one who calls the game to end. After stopping Rickon’s shoot, he pulls the football under his arm and wipes the sweat off his forehead. Brienne freezes, afraid that he might complain about his injury. 

“Come on!” yells Jon, raising his arm so Gendry passes him the ball. 

“Can we maybe call it a day?” begs the boy, panting a bit. 

“Ten more minutes!!” begs Arya before her father or Brienne do accept. 

However, she failed to see that Gendry wasn’t the only one exhausted. Bran, Sansa, and Rickon were eager to drop dead on the field at Gendry’s suggestion. Seeing how excited Arya is upon the prospect of playing for a little bit more, Jaime and Brienne exchange one look across the field. Panting and sweating, they smile at each other, agreeing at the same time: they can play for just a little while longer. 

“Five minutes,” accepts Jaime. 

Arya cheers in celebration, running off to Gendry to steal the football from his hands. The poor boy surrenders the ball without a fuss and goes to a corner, where he drops on the ground. 

“Let’s see, who’s playing?” asks Brienne, counting the heads still standing on the field. “Arya, Podrick, Jon, Mr. Lannister--”

She’s startled for a second upon seeing the man frowning at her, and only too late she realizes the title she used to address him. Just as it happened to Jaime that day by the lake when they were arguing, she just forgot, and it slipped. Using that title should be, after all, the proper way to address Jaime in front of the kids. 

No one seems to have noticed her slipping, and Jaime saves the situation by recounting the remaining players for the overtime. Rickon, Sansa, and Bran are out too, they’ve just joined Gendry outside of the field, which only leaves. . .

“Robb?” Jaime asks. 

The boy shrugs. “Might as well finish this, while we’re at it.”

“Atta boy,” praises Jaime, patting his back. 

Maybe because they saw some of the kids giving up on the game and thought their match was over, Frau Schmidt and a few stewards appear at that moment with towels, bottles of water, and jumpers for the cold evening breeze. That, and the fact that they need to reform their teams considering the four absences they’ve suffered, does give the players enough time to gather up strength for proper overtime. 

In the end, they play for almost fifteen more minutes, having now Sansa and the other kids as referees. But at some point, even the remaining members do need to yield to exhaustion. 

“Nice game,” they all congratulate each other, as they shake hands with everyone. Applause bursts and they share out the bottles of water for everyone to hydrate fully. 

If Brienne and Jaime wanted to ensure their kids got a full night’s sleep before their first day of school, they certainly succeeded--all eight kids, however smiling, seem ready to turn in for the night right this second. They should also take into account that the kids woke up at some ungodly hour for their pranks. 

“You know, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says, lingering behind. 

Rickon, Brandon, and Podrick have taken care of all the footballs and jackets, whereas Robb, Jon, Arya, and Sansa are carrying the goals back into the Mansion. Jaime picks up a couple of water bottles the kids missed and hands Brienne one for her to open it, then snatches it from her hands to take the first sip. 

“What a gentleman,” she scowls, waiting for her turn to drink. 

“You were saying?” asks Jaime after he delivers her the bottle. As a penalty, she makes him wait right there, until she’s satisfied her thirst, too. 

“We knew that you had in your own family a singing choir,” says Brienne, leading the way back to the Manor, “but as it turns out, we almost have our own football team right here.” 

Resting an arm around her shoulders, Jaime bursts out laughing. An honest, care-free, warm-hearted laughter Brienne has barely heard from him before, that seems to say ‘yes, we’ll be all right.’

“I think we could make it. But maybe we should lower our expectations and just aim for a baseball team--we’re only short of one kid, since we’ve already got eight.” 

_Where does this come from? Is he serious? _ Brienne’s remark was only meant to coax a burst of good-hearted laughter out of Jaime, and maybe to poke his feelings concerning the children singing at the upcoming Festival, but damn, she’s gotten much more than that. She’s out of breath upon the implications of Jaime’s words, both his not so subtle indication that he would like to have a kid with her and also the fact that he already includes Podrick in their long string of heirs, which simply put, does things to her. She’s got a tight knot in her throat and a funny tingle on her stomach, which unable her from putting in a single word more to the conversation. Jaime doesn’t push her, either, respecting her fright and nervousness with a soft kiss on her hair. 

They make it back to the Manor in comfortable silence, tired steps. 

Once more, they’re late, and this time the children couldn’t wait for them before they started gobbling down their food. Brienne looks at Jaime, fearing his reaction, the words ‘I taught them better than that’ at the tip of her tongue, but then he just shrugs and asks Mia for the two remaining dishes for him and Brienne. 

“Should we have taken a plate for your father, Fräulein?” asks Jon in one of those rare instances where he stops eating to catch his breath. 

“Nurse Lena picked up his dinner earlier,” Mia informs, just to reassure everyone. 

“No, thank you, Jon,” replies Brienne, although addressing warm smiles to everyone up and down the table--all the Lannister kids looked up upon Jon’s question, a bit in fright for forgetting about Selwyn, all willing to stand and take the tray of food if necessary. Even Jaime puts down his fork, just in case Brienne lacked volunteers for the “rescue Mr. Tarth from starving under his household” mission. “That is not your job, so don’t worry about it. But thank you for the offering.” 

“What is your job, actually,” says Jaime a few minutes later, when they’ve finished their dinner, “is to go upstairs, shower, change, and prepare your schoolbags and uniforms for tomorrow. I’ll have no complaints--you know that when school starts, it’s back to chores and schedules and going to sleep at a reasonable hour.” 

Some arguments do raise, knowing what the outcome of a discussion would be, however, so their hearts aren’t truly into it. Brienne nods at Podrick to follow the Lannister children. He joins the exhausted entourage leaving with heavy feet, Sansa and Jon almost forced to drag Rickon and Bran forward, without barely any energy left to yawn, much less talk, or set up any other pranks. 

Brienne keeps on eating her pasta until every last child is out of sight, and then she takes her plate and napkin to sit by Jaime’s side, for no other reason than not letting six seats stand between them. Jaime smiles at her gesture and reaches his good hand to caress her cheek--which means he stares at her, forgetting to eat, for some long seconds until Brienne growls at him, making Jaime burst out laughing. 

Finished with their pasta, they collect the dirty dishes and carry them over to the sink, to spare the stewards that small task. Brienne returns to her seat right away, quite exhausted and with hurting feet, whereas Jaime remains in the kitchen. He opens a cabinet and takes two glasses of wine, and then a bottle of red wine from the fridge. 

Checking the hour, and tilting her head in case they heard any of the kids coming back, Brienne hesitates. 

“Just one glass,” she warns, raising her index finger. 

“One,” nods Jaime. 

“And don’t you dare to fill it to the brim.” 

Jaime bursts out laughing, without confirming or denying that he had such machiavellian ideas in mind, and pours two very reasonable glasses of wine. He hands Brienne one and then joins her at the table, shoulder to shoulder, tired as well. They stretch their legs out, as far as they go, crossing at the ankles. And, given their height difference, Brienne rests her cheek against Jaime’s head. 

They drink in silence for a couple of minutes, a bit scared that they don’t hear the children. The lack of rattle and noises couldn’t possibly indicate that they killed each other by drowning, could it?

“This was one hell of a day,” she says after a while, to which Jaime agrees with a chuckle, reverberating all of Brienne’s body. 

It’s contagious, for she starts laughing as well, and they cannot stop for an ungodly amount of time. Brienne’s spent the whole morning outdoors with the kids, and in the afternoon Jaime’s joined them for an equally exhausting football match. It was sort of a big test for them all, the first day the whole family together in Salzburg, test if they could get along with each other. They believe they succeeded, and believe that there’s light after the dark tunnel, but Gods, at what cost? They’re all exhausted. 

“To many, many more perfect days like this one,” he says, raising his glass. 

They toast and drink a bit more of wine. Then, in identic movements, they tilt their heads to look into each other’s eyes, the need and passion plain clear in their faces. . . And lean for a deep and long kiss. Just in case they needed any confirmation, they do behave like bloody teenagers, yearning and aching for each other. 

The thought makes Brienne laugh and she needs to pull away, hiding her blushing face against Jaime’s chest. He hasn’t had enough, however, and he coaxes her lips back to his by kissing her hair and forehead. As Brienne doesn’t respond the way he’d wished for, he cups her chin and holds her there tenderly so he can kiss her again properly.

“To many more perfect kisses like that one,” she says, rubbing her nose against Jaime’s.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night’s still young at the Lannister Mansion, although in the morning they’ve all got chores to fulfill: Jaime must return to his company, the kids start school, and Brienne begins another job hunting mission.

They stay there--so warm, so comfortable, so right--for what feels like hours on end, but it can’t have been more than ten minutes until Brienne’s responsibilities catch up on her. 

Resting a hand on Jaime’s chest, she pulls away very slowly, remorse eating her alive. Jaime lets her go reluctantly as well. 

“I should check on my father. And the kids. . .” 

Jaime kisses her forehead softly. “Let’s go see your father, then. Give the kids a chance.”

At that, Brienne chuckles. She’s got every ounce of faith in those kids, but leaving to their own devices so late in the evening, when they’ve got chores and responsibilities to fulfill concerning tomorrow morning, sounds like a very irresponsible idea coming from their guardians. 

Still, five minutes later Jaime and she show up at Selwyn’s doorstep. 

“Knock, knock,” says Brienne, her head popping up from the ajar door, just to make sure they’re not bothering or worse, waking up Selwyn. But her father waves them in with a warm smile, and Lena excuses herself to give them a few minutes of privacy. 

“Brienne, honey! And the kids?” asks Selwyn, looking around. 

“Well, that’s nice. You didn’t miss me much, did you?” 

“I’ve had you around for twenty-eight years, but I’ve just met them. You must understand. So? Where are they?” 

“Well, if they’re half as smart as they think they are, they’ll have turned in already,” says Brienne, raising an eyebrow at Jaime. Do they dare to hope that the kids have actually fulfilled their chores? Or is that wishful thinking from naïve parents?

“What have you got there, Jaime?” asks Selwyn then, because he could see the man hiding his one good hand behind his back for some reason. 

“I just realized we haven’t yet welcomed you into the house and the family,” says Jaime, showing the glass of wine he poured for Selwyn. “Not officially.” 

Selwyn takes the glass eagerly, checking the door to make sure nurse Lena is nowhere to be found and won’t forbid him from drinking the wine, checking with Brienne to see if she’s going to stop him. He drinks it all and gives the glass back to Brienne for her to hide it. After all, following Brienne’s more than sensible instructions, Jaime didn’t pour him much wine to begin with, so it’s all good. 

For the next few minutes, they oblige courtesy social norms asking how everyone’s doing and how everyone’s days went. It all sounds too formal and businesslike for Brienne’s taste, to be honest, but she does prefer this sort of conversation instead of anything more personal, intimidating, and that she’d rather not discuss in front of her father, not for the time being. 

They’re spared any awkwardness by a few knocks on the door. Jaime and Brienne turn around expecting nurse Lena, imposing a curfew on the adults of the house too, but it’s, in fact, the children. 

“Sorry to disturb,” says Sansa with a whisper. 

“Come on in!” Selwyn invites them all with a wave of his hands. “You’re not disturbing at all, in fact, you’re saving me from the dullest and most boring of companies such as nurse Lena. Whose idea was it to hire her in the first place?” 

“Dad, she’s taking real good care of you.” 

“She’s going to kill me, that’s what she’s planning, Brinny. Out of boredom or out of only letting me eat ‘green food’, she is going to end me within a month!” 

“Oh, sometimes you’re worse than Pod,” scoffs Brienne. While she argued with her father and tried to talk reason into him, Jaime was having a field day with his kids as well. 

“I thought you’d be in bed by now,” he reproaches, albeit the kids barely listen to him as they approach the bed and sit on the couches and armchairs. One the other hand, they’re all wearing their PJs, so they did listen to some of Jaime’s and Brienne’s instructions.

“We vow, for all of the Lannister Empire, that our uniforms and schoolbags for tomorrow are ready,” promises Jon, raising his hand as if ready to be sworn in before a Court of Law. 

“Plus, if you recall, none of your orders included bedtime,” Robb points out, knowing they’re using a stupid and silly technicality--that’s why the youngster allow the older siblings to do all the talking, knowing they’re completely in the wrong. 

“Let your father think whatever he wants, I’m glad to have you all here,” says Selwyn, welcoming Podrick and Rickon on the bed by his side. “You did promise you’d sing for me.” 

“That’s why we’re here!” nods Brandon.

“Very well, then,” laughs Selwyn. “Go on!”

“Children, it’s late. You need to go to sleep and allow Mr. Tarth--” Jaime tries to interject. Brienne, if she wasn’t worried about everyone’s exhaustion, would laugh at his attempts at stopping the children. There is no force on Earth that could manage that. 

“Please, Dad!” they beg. 

“You’re not forcing me to go back on my word, aren’t you?” demands Selwyn, knowing he’s hit a sore subject: Jaime is a man of honor who wouldn’t feel comfortable breaking his word to the kids. He wouldn’t put himself in a position of forcing someone else to do that same thing he abhors. Of course, Jamie realizes they’re entering dangerous territory, for this is exactly what a family acts like. The parents trying to impose reason and the grandparents going behind their backs and doing whatever the hell they want. Well, most families. Not the Lannisters, though. 

Through his reveries, the kids have settled in formation by the bedside, and Jaime steps back, happy and proud to see his kids not only willing to sing, but also eager to. 

Given the lack of guitar or harmonica, Brienne hums the first notes to the song they’re going to sing. Funnily enough, Jaime can tell what song it is only by Brienne’s humming, before the kids start singing the lyrics, because a long time ago, he sang this song with her. Up in her room, right after their quarrel down by the lake. And, sure enough, following Brienne’s lead, the kids start singing ‘The hills are alive’, and Jaime has to fight the urge of joining them. When Brienne and he lock eyes, he knows she’s feeling the same. 

It fills him with pride listening to the children sing and, albeit biased, he would say that they do sing wonderfully. All three songs--The hills are alive, My favorite things, Do-Re-Mi--sound like angel’s music to his ears. The fact that they enjoy singing so much, that they rejoice in such a simple and mundane activity that thanks to Brienne they get to do every day and whenever they want, is almost enough to melt his heart. 

“Wonderful!” Selwyn agrees when they end the repertoire. He does have some pointers for the kids that Jaime couldn’t have figured on his own: he advises Gendry to control his voice’s power, or Arya to be careful when hitting the highest notes of the repertoire, Jon to breathe more often, and Bran to listen to his siblings and try not to get ahead of them all at times. 

“But we don’t suck, do we?” asks Robb with a bit of fright. 

“That language,” warns Jaime, who is interjected next second by Selwyn himself. 

“Not at all, you’re wonderful, really! I’m just trying that this singing choir performs as best as possible, aiming at. . . Excellence.”

“Well, we’ve got two weeks to practice it all and reach excellence, no need to sweat it right now,” Brienne says, trying to soothe the kids. 

“For now, you need to go to bed,” Jaime adds. 

This time around, none of the kids complain and they bid goodnight right away. 

“Goodnight, everyone,” says Selwyn, waving goodbye at the kids. 

Bran and Rickon, as well as Podrick, of course, step up to kiss Selwyn goodbye, before they follow their siblings out. Brienne almost stops them to hug or kiss them goodnight, but figures it is too early for that. Wouldn’t want to confuse them. . . There’s still time, that’s what they all keep saying. 

Then, Jaime nods at Brienne and Selwyn in a silent farewell note, in order to follow the kids outside and up to their chambers. He doesn’t miss the chance to send Brienne this smug look that Brienne deciphers only too well and sends the blood rushing to her cheeks once more, needing a few seconds to avoid both Jaime’s and her father’s eyes. 

“Well,” she sighs, clearing her throat. “Sorry about all of that.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’m way too lonely and bored all day long here,” replies Selwyn. 

“Things should be easier tomorrow,” says Brienne, checking he’s properly wrapped up in blankets. “They’re starting school.” 

“All of them?” ponders Selwyn. 

Brienne smiles appreciatively, using her hair to hide her face from her father. “Yes, all of them. Jaime pulled a few strings concerning Podrick.” 

“Goodman,” approves Selwyn. 

“Indeed,” agrees Brienne. 

Nurse Lena steps into the room at that moment, a book under her arm. Knowing she should probably leave, Brienne sits on the bed and cups her father's cheek. 

“Will you be alright?” she presses. 

“Of course, honey. Go get some rest too, I’m sure you’ve got work to do tomorrow,” he says, taking her hand into his and kissing her palm. “Just don’t forget about me, but go take care of whatever they need you to take care of.” 

“Could never forget about you, Dad,” Brienne replies, kissing him back. “Have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“I’ll be here,” he nods, letting her go. 

In the darkness and quiet of the Manor now that the staff members have finished their duties and turned in too, Brienne takes her time climbing up the stairs to the first floor. Her father sick downstairs, Podrick finding his place amongst the Lannister children, her chores as governess towards those kids, and besides. . . Jaime. She misses the time where all she had to worry about was her family, but at the same time cannot stop to wonder if those times were really easier. 

She finds Jaime bidding goodnight to Jon and Robb one last time before closing their bedroom door and moving onto Arya and Sansa's. To spare him some time, and also because Brienne wanted to check in on Podrick especially, she checks the last bedroom, which now belongs to Rick, Bran, Gendry, and Podrick. The chambers were so big, to begin with, that another bed wasn't exactly a nuisance, although Jaime did mention there is still the possibility of buying bunk beds. One more thing they'll have to discuss in the long run. 

“Night, everyone,” she says softly from the threshold.

Bran, Rickon, and Gendry are already tucked in, their bedside lamps turned off, but it isn't Podrick's case. He's sitting on his bed, not really refusing to go to sleep like everyone else, but simply a bit uncomfortable with his new three siblings. Stepping into the room, Brienne sighs in regret. Last night she should have checked in on Podrick and not Selwyn, she reflects as she reaches Pod's bed and he scoots to give her some space to sit down. 

“What is it, honey?” she asks softly, as Podrick snuggles against her side. “Any questions about how the universe was created?”

“Not tonight,” he says. 

“Well, then, it’s time to sleep, Pod. You cannot possibly tell me you’re not tired.”

“I’m nervous, I suppose,” he says. “I like it here so far, but it’s a lot.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Brienne sighs, rubbing his arm. 

She looks around, at the three unmoving figures on the other beds, pretending for their sake to be asleep already, and then at Jaime’s shadow peeking from the corridor. If Podrick really needs her, she’s not doing a very good job as to give him a window to talk. After all, in Vienna, they shared a bedroom, which gave Podrick plenty of opportunities to share with her his worries and concerns. It’s only natural that he misses that. 

“Would you like to sleep in my room?” 

He nods against her arm, and she kisses his forehead, pointing at Pod to grab his jumper and slippers. She turns off his bed night lamp, bids farewell to the Lannister children one more time, and leads the way outside. Jaime steps to one side and shuts the door behind her and Podrick, and then nods once at her. The silent conversation is as plain as if they’d said the words aloud: Jaime respects that Podrick needs his mother right now and that they do need their privacy, so he won’t insist upon Brienne coming up to his chambers. To prove so, Jaime bids goodnight at Podrick and leaves, way ahead of Brienne and her son, towards the dormitories on the upper floor. 

“You know you can be honest with me,” Brienne tells Podrick a few minutes later, when they’re lying side by side on her massive bed. “You can come to me at any time. If you don’t like anything of all this arrangement, whatever it is, you come to me and we’ll straighten it out.” 

“But I like it here. I enjoy having so many brothers and sisters, I don’t want to go back to Vienna.” 

“Nobody said we were leaving tomorrow,” Brienne promises softly. 

With Podrick’s words, she’s just realized that returning to Salzburg would be the actual nightmare for Podrick right now. Is it fair what she’s doing? What if they realize that things between her and Jaime cannot work out in the end, what is she going to do with Podrick? What’s going to happen to the kids? Maybe they did rush into this without thinking it through. Sure, it was the best option for her father, and she’s eternally grateful to Jaime, and probably the best thing for her and Jaime to do, as well. . . But what about the kids? 

“I don’t want to leave either. But I just want you to understand, this doesn’t have to be a permanent change, either. If there are any problems here at the house, or with the Lannister kids, or at school, or anything at all, however unimportant it seems, you tell me, and we’ll see what can be done about it. Do you promise?” 

“Yes,” says Podrick, almost dozing off already, and so Brienne drops all of her lectures for now. He already knows he can come to her with anything, he needs no reminders, but she didn't want him keeping things to himself if he feared they’d leave and return to Vienna over some silly nonsense. Whatever happens, they’ll deal with it. 

“Go to sleep now,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss his hair. 

When the alarm clock rings come morning, however, she is not met with hugs and kisses, but instead groans and complaints and a straight out refusal to wake up and leave the bed. If this is a warning of the fight all the kids will put up against her, Brienne’s going to have a field day, she really is. She also reflects she’s going to have to set her alarm clock much earlier for the next few days. 

The surprise comes when not all the kids show Podrick’s reaction to waking up so early. Only Arya, Rickon, and Brandon attempt to stay in bed after her first call, but everyone else stands to change. Guessing Jaime’s incessant drills about chores and responsibilities did rub off on them, after all. 

Sleep in their eyes, they go downstairs for breakfast, Brienne taking a detour to check in on her father--he’s still asleep, though, so she returns quietly to the kitchen. Jaime joins them, a newspaper under his arm, although by the looks of it he’s been awake and working for at least one hour. 

“Morning,” he greets, sitting on the spare chair. “Are you ready for your first day back at school?” 

“Gods, father, don’t remind me,” scowls Arya, covering her ears. The rest of the children also complain about school, but they're still not quite comfortable yet to make fun of it or to joke about dropping out. 

“Come on, it’s going to be great!” Jaime replies to the children’s pessimism with an outburst of energy and happiness. “You won’t be around all the time to pester us all.” 

So jokes are on the table, the children’s faces seem to say, much to Brienne’s despair. Oh, this could be the never-ending story, one that she cannot allow taking place at the breakfast table if they do wish to be on time for school at all. 

“Come on, less chit chat and more eating,” she orders. 

Ten minutes later, they send the kids upstairs to brush their teeth and collect their bags. As Brienne was about to pour herself another cup of coffee, she finds Jaime following her to the countertop, resting his hands on her thighs. He spins her around, trapping her on the corner, and plants a soft kiss on her lips. Against her better judgment, she allows herself to close her eyes and relishes the moment. 

“Good morning to you, too,” she whispers when he pulls away. “We really don’t have the time for this right now, Jamie.” 

“Unfortunately, I am aware of that,” he sighs, resting his hands on the countertop, to both sides of Brienne’s body, getting as close to her lips as he can without them meeting. “Would you like to come by my office later?” 

He rejoices in the scarlet color Brienne’s cheeks turn into. Her imagining what sort of shenanigans would Jaime be up to in his office only makes his imagination and dreams run wild, and he’s praying she’ll say yes. Of course, her answer is an adamant negative. 

“I need to go back to my room,” she says. 

There’s an important folder full of resumés she cannot forget, after all. She knocks on the children’s rooms to go downstairs together and, down at the entrance hall, she checks all of their ties and jackets. Podrick looks most uncomfortable in his suit, what with him being the first time in a tie, but enrolling him in a private school was their only chance--they were lucky the principal held Jaime in such high regards. The Lannister family contributions to the school over the years, and the latest donation this summer, didn’t affect their cause negatively, either. 

Since Jaime’s lagging behind, Brienne stops by her father’s room once more, and because he’s still asleep, she instructs Lena to have him call her at some point during the morning. She will not be back until midday, if all goes to plan. Through the double door windows, Brienne sees a blue sky plastered by some collections of clouds, painted pink by the early morning sun. It does make her feel better, leaving Selwyn with that portrait to stare at all day long instead of the plain, boring walls of their apartment, watching the paint go dry. 

Jaime’s waiting for her by the stairs and he offers her his arm as they walk to the entrance hall. Christopher is ready with the limousine to drive them to the city, with a planned route: they will drop Jon, Robb, and Sansa first, then Rickon and Bran at the nursery school, and Gendry, Arya, and Podrick last. 

“Hey,” Jaime calls Robb, Sansa, and Jon out, “do you know why the dog won’t listen to the farmer’s sheep jokes?” 

The three elder siblings exchange curious and worried looks. Brienne can almost hear the wheels turning in their brains pondering if they should just make a run for it before their Father can finish that joke. 

“Is this going to be another bad pun of yours?” fears Jon, bracing himself. 

“Well, it’s because he’s herd them all,” Jaime finishes his joke, and all around the car, groans raise from all the kids and Brienne. 

“Bye, Father,” scowls Sansa, hanging the schoolbag from her shoulder. 

They try to set off to the school, to no avail: Jaime leaves the vehicle to wave them goodbye, loudly, in front of everyone. That’s clearly a first, Brienne reads from the reactions of all the children. He probably always stayed back in the car, reading his newspapers, until Christopher dropped him off at work--whenever he didn’t even accompany them and went straight to work ahead of them, of course. 

Today, however, Jaime’s got a special joke for everyone, which just sends them all away faster than usual. All the kids seem to appreciate his efforts, although the older siblings do not appreciate the newly discovered tingling of embarrassment. 

“Listen here, honey,” begs Brienne before Podrick runs off. “You go have fun. Learn as much as you can. And listen to Gendry, he’ll help you out.”

“Yes, Mom,” nods Podrick. 

He then turns around to follow Gendry into the school courtyard. Brienne stays there until he disappears from sight and turns around, appreciating Jaime welcoming her into his arms. 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to cry,” laughs Jaime, rubbing her back. 

“I’m emotional,” scowls Brienne. “I think I’ve always suffered from post-vacation depression much more than Podrick ever did. 

“And you’re way too happy about this whole thing,” she points out. 

“Every parent throws a party when their kids start school in September,” Jaime replies, amused voice, leading the way to the car to atop Brienne from following after Podrick, maybe, “most especially, parents of eight children.” 

Deep in her, Brienne’s stomach twirls to a point where she could very well be sick. Now that Jaime’s pointed it out. . . Yesterday was officially the last day of the summer holidays. This was supposed to be her last day working at the Manor and taking care of those seven wonderful children. Today she should be traveling back to Vienna to meet her family and resume her stressful life of low-paid jobs, taking care of Selwyn, looking after Pod. Instead, she’s just moved in with Jaime, planning on staying for the long run, and have gained, in the process, eight more children to look after and to love. Could anyone, at the beginning of summer, have predicted this is what this family would look like just a few months later? 

It does feel like evolution and development improbable of being predicted by anyone with two functioning eyes who’d seen them, she laughs. 

“Can I hear the joke?” asks Jaime, surprised that Brienne should be laughing now after shedding a few tears for their children. 

“It’s not very good,” says Brienne. 

“Seriously?” scoffs Jaime. “_Your joke_ might not be too good? Do you want to hear why the candle quit his job?”

Albeit Brienne did have the chance of stopping Jaime before he pestered her with another of his jokes, picked especially for her, she doesn’t. Even his lame bad puns could cheer her up in a day like today. . . 

“He felt burnt out,” Jaime finishes his joke. 

Well, correction, scowls Brienne, now regretting having any faith in Jaime and not stopping him in time. Jaime’s terrible sense of humor only gets a pitiful laugh out of her, and she thanks the fact that they’re approaching Lannister headquarters already. 

“Off you go,” she says, pulling away. 

“I think this separation will get_ me_ depressed,” confesses Jaime, looking deep into Brienne’s eyes with a sad puppy face. 

“You’re impossible,” Brienne scoffs. “You go now. We both have work to do.” 

Jaime looks down on the folder under her arm, which he hadn’t seen before, but he knows immediately what’s inside. “You’re really not going to let me get you an interview here? You could have a job tomorrow morning.” 

“I really won’t. You’d still be my employer and giving me my salary, which is wrong on so many levels, I cannot even name them. And I don’t approve of nepotism either, you know that.” 

“Fine,” scowls Jaime, grabbing his suitcase as Christopher pulls to a stop. “And you won’t tell me where you’ve got those interviews?” 

“So you can butt in and influence things in my favor? No,” Brienne replies. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Lannister.” 

She leans to open Jaime’s door, but instead Jaime cups her cheeks and plants a kiss on her lips, for which she thanks Christopher’s absence and the tainted glass windows. 

“Don’t call me that,” he forbids, his breath warming Brienne’s lips. “It’s Jaime. It’s been for a while, now. The only ‘Lannister’ I’ll allow around here from now on is a future hypothetical _ Mrs._ Lannister.” 

Brienne chokes and pulls away to look into Jaime’s eyes, and that’s when she reads the amusement in his face. Although she did point out, like a century ago, that Jaime shouldn’t cancel that forsaken wedding. Life got in the way, but if her father’s condition hadn’t worsened, wouldn’t her name be, right about now, Mrs. Lannister indeed? 

Upon her worries and puzzlement, Jaime kisses her again on the nose and then knocks on the window, so Christopher opens the door for him. Brienne stares at Jaime’s back as he enters the building, just a part of her wondering if she could stop him right there on his tracks, or worse, follow him into his office and fulfill any of the wildest dreams he’s ever had. 

They can’t, of course, she reflects after a second too long. Christopher entering the car makes Brienne forget all about her stupid reveries, and she looks down on her folder. 

“Where to, miss?” he asks. 

One interview in the morning, another one in the afternoon just after lunch, and many resumés to deliver in the meantime, Brienne’s forced to spend the whole day in Salzburg. She does find the time to make a twenty-minute call to her father to talk things through, but that’s about all the time she can allow herself to waste--all the time her father will allow her to waste. She does feel better after talking to him, her energies renewed for some more rejections and refusals. 

He told her to trust her plan. To trust Jaime, whose life has turned upside down from the moment he met her and who’s now changed his life again by welcoming Podrick and Selwyn into his home. To just keep doing what she’s doing with the kids, because from where he’s standing, she's doing great so far. In short, he tells her to trust her gut and to have confidence in her. He even finds the strength to sing a few lines from the song that’s always encouraged her for school, for a test, for Podrick, or anything at all. 

  
_I have confidence in sunshine_   
_I have confidence in rain_   
_I have confidence that spring will come again_   
_Besides which you see I have confidence in me. _   


Her walking up and down the city all day long, for she sends Christoph home after he drops her off at her first interview, means she’s also available to pick the kids up from school. That was the plan, after all, she wanted to at least be there for Podrick and know first-hand how the day was for him. This is supposed to work out for all of them, she doesn’t wish to make him miserable. 

As soon as she sees Podrick running along with Gendry and Arya across the courtyard, her fears vanish. She knows Pod wouldn’t lie or pretend for her, not even in front of the other kids, and she can tell that's a genuine smile on him. He’s long lost his tie, his shirt is buttoned incorrectly and stained with the Gods know what, but he seems he did have a field day. He proves so by jumping into Brienne’s arms and starting to tell her all about the school, the classes, the teachers, the classmates Gendry introduced him to, and the few friends he’s made already. 

“That’s really great, honey,” Brienne congratulates him. 

They’re already on their way to pick up Rick and Brandon, eating the pastries Brienne picked up from Jorah, and she’s finally breathing better for the first time today. She’s still concerned about Pod’s classes, she feared he would slack behind compared to the other kids, but there’s time to interrogate him, much more time yet for him to work hard and catch up if necessary. 

After picking all eight children, they head home, knowing that they won’t see their father again until late at night--if they see him at all again. Just so they can get the nervousness from the first day back out of their systems, Brienne insists on going out for their usual walk. She checks in on her father while the kids change into regular clothes, but since he’s taking a nap, she doesn’t stay for long. 

Despite the children’s complaints, she only allows Gendry to skip the walk, for he was complaining too much about that ankle. She sends him to rest with the instructions of seeing Lena before dinner. And so the seven remaining children and Brienne go out to the grounds, under the waning sun. 

Varying conversions raise around her, all about school--new teachers, new classmates, sports, homework they’ve already been given--and Brienne pitches in now and then, trying to keep up with Pod. This bears no resemblance to those strolls the children and she took on her first days, silent and monotonous and boring. They even spare her heart by not going anywhere near the stables or the boathouse. Does she need any more evidence that things have changed since she got here? That the children are beyond exuberant to have her around? 

One hour later, back to the house, Brienne couldn’t bring herself to force the children to tackle any homework, not on their first day back to school. With Podrick, their usual routine was to get ice creams on their commute from school to the house, and stop by the park for a while, and later on sing for a bit with Selwyn. Today, she made sure there’re ice creams on the fridge for desserts, the leisurely time at the park has been replaced by the stroll through the grounds, and yes, it’s now time for their singing. 

Gendry joins in, of course, and they haven’t gotten through three verses from ‘The Hills are alive’ that nurse Lena interrupts with a message from Selwyn: they’re doing all choir practices in his chambers from now on. Brienne rolls her eyes at that, but the children run off to her father’s room, included Podrick, eager to check in on his grandfather and sing with him. 

Once they finish their repertoire, Selwyn insists that they stay with him for a little while longer, to entertain him, and the kids take the chairs and couches. They delight Selwyn with anecdotes and tidbits from school, making them all laugh in turn. When nurse Lena advises that Selwyn should get some more rest before dinner, the kids go fetch their books, chess set, and drawing books, and settle everywhere around the room, including, on Rickon and Brandon’s cases, the carpeted floor. Brienne also takes Dostoyevsky, but she finds it extremely hard to focus on the reading. The picture in front of her, however strange, does make her heart bloom. Apparently, Podrick and Selwyn do belong in the picture as well--in short, they do belong in the family.

By dinner time, the kids are exhausted. Brienne had forgotten how tired they used to be in her first week working here, otherwise known as their last week of school. The youngsters can barely pluck up the strength to pick up their knives and forks to slice their steaks. It’s a quiet supper for once, since the kids cannot force themselves to talk or joke or banter anymore. And Podrick hardly shows any response at her getting the ice creams out for dessert. 

No amount of singing or reading will keep them up for long, and so Brienne sends them all off to bed; the reason why she knows they’re so exhausted is that they do not even complain. 

She takes care of the dishes and then stops by her father’s room, who’s sound asleep too. Brienne predicts the children will follow his suit within ten minutes, she sighs with a broad smile at seeing her father rest. 

“Goodnight,” she bids farewell to Lena. 

Maybe she should have stayed with her father, but she’s learned her lesson: she needs to be upstairs in case Podrick or any of the kids need her. Selwyn will be very well taken care of, with Lena there and whatnot, but the nurse cannot extend the same courtesy towards the kids. 

And, sure enough, Podrick was waiting for her out in the corridor. Brienne kneels, running a hand through his hair, holding before he drops and falls asleep right there. 

“Go to my room,” she instructs. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

She needs to check in on the other kids, but it’s fairly plain they won’t be up to any shenanigans or pranks tonight. The lights off, she sees all seven figures tucked in their beds, hears their deep breathings as she checks their blankets one by one. 

Podrick’s almost out of it in her room too, which leads her to believe nothing traumatic happened to him at school--he only missed her, she gathers. She changes in the bathroom and then lies with Podrick, assessing that he needs to get a haircut soon enough. 

Albeit it’s so damn hard to fight sleep off, Brienne does her best. There is still one more person she wants to check in on, and it’s maddening not knowing when he’s planning on showing his face around. He texted her earlier, bidding her and the kids good night, a message she delivered when she tucked them in, but that’s the extent of his communication. He gave her no indications of when he’s planning on coming back home. 

By the time she hears the car pulling up, she doesn’t even want to check the hour. She’s beat. How does Jaime stand these schedules for months on end? It’s inhumane, this life he leads. 

She swallows back all of those complaints as she gets out of bed to greet him--certainly, Jaime’s tired as well and will not appreciate her judging his lifestyle at this late hour. She puts on a jumper, gets out to the corridor already hearing Jaime’s heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs, and turns on a small light from the corridor. The man spins around and, beyond his exhaustion, smiles fondly at seeing her there, waiting for him. 

Changing his destination, he turns left on the first flight of stairs instead of going straight to the second floor, to meet Brienne. He doesn’t even say a word, he just kisses her deeply, making her retreat until she rests against the veranda. They’re only a bit out of breath by the time they pull away, taking a few seconds to open their eyes. They smile in the semi-darkness, blushing at their eagerness. 

“Sorry I’m so late,” he whispers, truly apologetic tone. “It’s been a while since someone waited for me back home. I’ll try to remember.” 

Brienne shakes her head, their noses grazing against one another. 

“You fail to remember that you’ve got seven children--” 

“Eight,” he corrects her. 

“--_Seven_ children who did use to wait for you every night,” she insists. “Elsa or not, Baroness or not, you did have seven reasons to come back home. I’m not saying you don’t have to work as much as you do, you do what you consider it’s best for your Empire, but it’s not only about me.”

“Fine,” sighs Jaime after a bit. “I’ll try to remember that, as well.” 

“Good,” approves Brienne, resting against his chest, hugging him tightly. He corresponds by kissing her hair, and then takes a very deep breath, looking over his shoulder. 

“Can I?” he asks, waving over to her bedroom. 

“Pod’s sleeping in there,” Brienne whispers, apologetic tone. Jaime doesn’t look hurt at all, he just shrugs, and doesn’t even wonder about Brienne coming upstairs to his chambers. 

“I should let you get some sleep. Good night,” he says. 

For a moment, Brienne believes she can let him go, just like that, but when Jaime lets go of her hands, reluctantly, and walks away slowly, she pulls him back into a hug. If Jaime’s surprised at all at her outburst, he doesn’t show it, he just laughs softly at her. 

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too,” he whispers, tilting his head to one side so Brienne will kiss him--and she complies, eager. “I will try to get home earlier tomorrow.”

In his arms, Brienne lets out a soft groan, but doesn’t answer in any other way. She knows that Jaime will stay at his office for as long as he considers appropriate, and she couldn’t force him to come back home earlier than that. Even if some people, just like Margaery, would say that these sorts of compromises are what relationships are all about, she doesn’t think they’re there yet. 

“How’d the interviews go?” he asks. As tired as they both are, knowing they could very well fall asleep there where they stand, they’re unwilling to let each other go. 

“Let’s just say I don’t have a job to go to in the morning,” says Brienne. 

“And you still won’t let me--”

“Jaime,” she interjects before he makes that offer for the umpteenth time in as many days, “as much as I’ve missed you and want to tell you all about my day, I’m beat.”

“Got it,” he says right away, apologetic tone, because the only thing he’s looking forward to is his bed, as well. “See you in the morning.” 

“Will I?” asks Brienne. As wonderful a day as today was, she fears it was nothing more than an extraordinary routine out of it being the first day of school. If tomorrow everything else goes back to normal, so will Jaime and his crazy schedules. 

“I’m certain that _I_ will,” he says, without truly giving her an answer. 

“And that’s not creepy at all,” laughs Brienne. 

Jaime catches that sound with another kiss, just because he loves hearing Brienne laugh, but also for the sake of their children. They stand unmoving, barely breathing, for some eternally long beats, until they're sure none of the kids have been disturbed by their conversation or her laughing fit. 

Only then, Jaime smiles out of relief and pulls Brienne close, for one last goodnight kiss on the forehead. Brienne, against her better judgment, lets him leave this time and, once his figure and his footsteps disappear into the darkness, steps back into her chambers, dropping dead by Podrick’s side.

Albeit she’d expected to fall asleep the minute her eyelids closed, it does not happen right away. She cannot help but reflect on today. How they behaved like a family, were a family to any bystander who didn’t know better--while dropping the kids off to school, picking them up, taking them home, going out for a walk. Tired as she is, Brienne also feels exultant, for it seems this whole plan wasn’t as crazy an idea as she’d feared in the beginning. Maybe it’ll all work out. 

She’s not as delusional as to think tomorrow will be any quieter than today, of course. The kids all have school again and she’s got a thousand resumes to send out. But maybe this sort of routine and peacefulness can last for some days, give them all time to settle down, adapt. If only. . .


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne struggle as parents of eight throughout the kids' first week of school ! (Until something or someone, inevitably, goes wrong LOL) 
> 
> Lots of family moments and fluffy scenes :D

Somewhere, someone listens to her prayers. 

Things do not get easier or quieter, and she meets her bed every night exhausted out of her mind. But at least the first week back at school is uneventful enough to let everyone figure everything out and get used to the routine and how things work. 

It doesn’t mean it’s an uneventful week, of course. Arya’s chosen for the football club at her school. Bran begins his first day at drawing school. They all complain, without fail, about the homework load they’ve already been given. All eight children, by overpowering consensus, agree to enroll in the singing choir. Podrick promises Brienne he’s doing alright and, after the first two nights of spoiling him, he starts sleeping in his chambers with his siblings. That’s the day where he rides Mendel again with the Lannister children and comes out of it without a concussion. Brienne applies for every job available in Salzburg and has half a dozen interviews with the same unsuccessful results. She also takes Selwyn outside the house in the afternoons for their usual walks, provided his wheelchair. Jaime leaves home at an ungodly hour every morning, stopping by Brienne’s chambers to kiss her goodbye, and does try to get home earlier and earlier--he’s not in time for dinner, but at the very least he’s there to kiss the children goodnight. 

All in all, she’s hopeful to think that they’re going to make it. 

“Here’s to us,” Jaime toasts that Friday night, out at the terrace, after the kids and Selwyn turned in already, and he poured two glasses of wine. They’re exhausted too, but they’ve barely had five minutes to themselves this past week, and that’s all they ask for before they turn in as well. “To getting through this whole ordeal unscathed.” 

“Cheers,” Brienne chuckles. “Were you talking to your brother earlier? It didn’t sound too good.” 

“No, I suppose it didn’t,” sighs Jaime. 

He does not elaborate his succinct answer, just staring at the grounds, a few lamps still shedding some light on the cobbled path. They’ve lit up some candles around the terrace, wobbling against the soft breeze, but they’re almost in the dark even so. A reminder that upstairs, their family, as well as the majority of the staff members, are asleep already. Brienne almost wishes she were up in her bed too--only because the evening breeze sends a shiver down her spine, and she crosses her legs under her body. 

“You’re cold,” Jaime points out. Before she can stop him, he’s left to fetch one of the blankets lying around the terrace benches and covers Brienne with it. He leaves more than enough blanket for him, as well, and then pulls Brienne for her to rest against his shoulder, just as they were before he left. 

“Was it always like this?” asks Brienne, knowing she won’t be able to force Jaime into explaining what was that conversation with Tyrion, and she wouldn’t even try unless he gives her reason to worry. 

“I don’t really know,” confesses Jaime. “The governesses used to take care of everything during the summer holidays and school years. For me, there was barely any difference.” 

“Welcome to the land of good, old-fashioned and low-class parenting,” Brienne says, raising her glass for another toast. Jaime chuckles as he drinks another sip of wine. 

“Welcome to something else I should have known to do years ago.” 

“Maybe,” grants Brienne, never one to sugarcoat things here. “But you’re learning from your mistakes now. It’s not too late.”

“Dear Gods, I hope not.” 

“It isn’t,” she promises, resting a hand on his chest. “You’re doing fine, Mr. Lannister.”

“Some people would disagree,” he reckons under his breath, but Brienne hears him just fine. 

_“Some people?” _ she demands, snuggling ever closer to Jaime and grabbing his hand--his stump, actually, a gesture that still shocks Jaime briefly. “Refer them to me.” 

“It’s my father,” Jaime sighs. “That’s what the conversation with Tyrion was about.” 

“Oh,” is Brienne’s only response. “I’m guessing he did approve of a marriage to a wealthy, classy Baroness from Vienna, but he’s not too pleased about an engagement to a commoner just like myself, huh?” 

“Don’t say that,” forbids Jaime with vehemence, cupping Brienne’s face into his hand. “I could care less about what he thinks or what he approves or not.” 

_But he doesn’t,_ Brienne reflects. Jaime cares so much for his father’s opinions. Maybe as much as the Lannister children cared about Jaime’s opinions, looked up to him, and wanted his approval. Being great parents runs in the family, apparently. It would seem that parenting and raising children turns out to be incompatible with running a successful business such as the Lannister Empire. The only thing is, she’s in no position to help that relationship in particular--she hasn’t ever met Mr. Lannister Senior, and as far as she’s heard, he appears to be a man incapable of changing, in his old age. 

“It’s going to be alright,” Brienne says, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course, it is,” nods Jaime, but he’s just lying to himself as well as Brienne, now. “Tyrion promised he would try and talk to him.” 

“Goodman.” 

They stay there for ten more minutes, catching up on the week’s events: Brienne’s varying interviews that suck the energy and joy out of her system, Jaime’s many business meetings and lunches. He keeps avoiding that sore subject about the state of the company, the stakeholders, and so on, and Brienne makes the decision, once more, not to ask. At some point, however, they need to go upstairs just like everybody else and get some sleep. 

After what feels like ten minutes, Brienne wakes up with a set of lips kissing her forehead, and she smiles at Jaime. 

“Morning, you,” she greets, just like every day. 

“Go back to sleep,” he instructs, changing the pattern. “It’s early still.”

Eyes closed, Brienne reaches out a hand for him, and Jaime kisses her. But that was not Brienne’s plan; she grabs Jaime by the shirt to keep him there, and then rolls to her side to check the alarm clock. She figured that if it’s too early for her to be awake, it is also too early for Jaime to be awake. And her hunch was right. No one in their right mind wakes up at seven am on a Saturday after the week they’ve just had. 

“You are insane,” she scowls. 

“Not the first one to accuse me of that,” Jaime laughs. 

“Go back to bed!” Brienne orders. 

“Is that an invitation?” 

Fully awake all of a sudden, Brienne takes in the situation: they’re all alone in her chambers, she’s once more wearing a stupid pajamas whereas Jaime is in a suit and tie, no one’s awake just yet. Her mind doesn’t need more than that and goes straight to what happened in these rooms the last time she and Jaime were alone in here. 

Knelt in front of her, Jaime chuckles upon her realization, and her blushing scarlet red. She still doesn’t know if he’s just making fun of her. 

“Because there’s a bed here--” 

“Don’t,” Brienne interjects. That was a too similar line like the one he delivered, in his drunken state, that night where she barged into his chambers to discuss the children. It didn’t feel appropriate then and, for very different circumstances, it still doesn’t feel right. “Didn’t you have work to do?” 

“Well, if it’s a question between work and you. . .” he says in that smug, soft, endearing voice of his, sitting on the bed. 

Brienne bursts out laughing at Jaime attempting to kiss her directly onto the lips. She pulls away and holds Jaime's chin to prevent him from trying anything again, but apparently he only considers that an invitation, part of the game, and she sees it in his eyes. 

“Jaime, I’m serious!” she scowls. “I’m not doing it. The minute we try, the kids will be bursting in through that door.”

Giving up, Jaime drops on his side, leaving a respectful distance between the two. Brienne breathes better now, leaning back to rest against the wall. 

For almost thirty seconds, they don’t say a word. 

“You’re staying here?” Brienne demands. 

“You did point out I didn’t get nearly enough sleep,” agrees Jaime. “I think I should fix that.” 

“Oh, you’re impossible,” scowls Brienne. 

“No, I’d be impossible if I told you one of my greatest jokes right now.”

“Don’t you dare!” forbids Brienne. 

She throws herself to Jaime in order to stop him before he utters a single syllable more. Only, he uses that momentum to pull her in, trap her in his binding arms, and squeeze her as tight as he can, making her laugh again. 

“You’re not playing fair,” she complains. 

“Neither are you,” he replies against her ear, his stubble itching Brienne’s skin. “Keeping me at arm’s length all week long. . . That’s not only unfair and cruel, but that’s also plain old torture.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Mr. Lannister.”

“Wouldn’t bet my hand on it. My left one, that is,” Jaime says, surprising Brienne in a way, for he never used to joke about the loss of his hand. 

“Come on, go do something useful besides getting on my nerves,” she scowls, pushing him away and struggling in his arms. She inadvertently hits him hard on the chest and that's when he releases her, letting out a low moan. 

“Ouch! Fine, woman, I’m leaving, you don’t have to kill me,” he scowls, but he does get out of the bed with a low chuckle. He still sports a smile on his lips by the time she leaves the bedroom. 

On the bed, Brienne smiles stupidly at the door shut behind Jaime, arms around her legs. She soon realizes she will not be able to fall back asleep. There is no way, after playing jokingly with Jaime like that. She’s fully awake. Damn the man. 

Instead of spending hours tossing around, she decides it’s time she picked up that old habit of hers of exercising in the morning. She changes into her sports gear and goes downstairs, making it a point not to visit Jaime at his study, or else she will never leave the house. Deciding, given the hour, that she’ll visit Selwyn on her way back, she gets out to the grounds.

Breathing in deeply and taking in everything around her as she stretches, she finds out that despite the hour, she's eager to fulfill this jogging session. She would invite Robb if she didn't know better than to wake him up at this ungodly hour. 

Per usual, she feels so much better afterwards, pouring vitality and endorphins, and she's not surprised to see she’s beaten her personal record: her long strides and energy to spare certainly make that possible. 

“Good morning!” greets Selwyn to her left. “You never gave up your training sessions, I see.” 

Needing a few more beats to catch her breath, Brienne looks up to confirm her father that yes, jogging still is, to this day, the one routine that better prepares her for a long day of work. But none of those words find their way out of her mouth, for at that moment Brienne finds both her father and Jaime sitting at the terrace. The main terrace, not Selwyn’s room’s terrace, which means that someone had to wheel him out here. 

There’s no way of knowing who bothered whom first; either Jaime invited Selwyn to the terrace, or if Selwyn asked Lena to take him here. Unable to solve the conundrum, especially when both Jaime and her father look completely at ease in each other’s company, enjoying the warm sun, she stutters for some seconds. 

“Brienne, honey, are you going to stand there all day long?” chuckles Selwyn, inviting her over to a seat. 

“No,” she replies, climbing up the stairs. It doesn’t matter, now. “Where’s Lena?”

“She’s sorting through my medication, or, in other words, she’s choosing the medication she’ll kill me with.” 

At that response, Brienne rolls her eyes, and then sends a warning look to Jaime: he better not laugh at Selwyn’s jokes and play along. 

“You could tell her to go easy on me,” says Selwyn, as Brienne leans on the veranda, smiling at the sun, to catch her breath. “I do not need twelve pills per day, for Pete’s sake.” 

“She knows what’s best for you, Dad, that is all.”

She walks up to her father to kiss him good morning and he hugs her in return, despite her sweaty body. 

“You need a haircut, Dad,” Brienne points out, running a hand through his father’s thin and receding hair. Her pointing it out only makes him scowl, since he thought they were having a nice father-daughter moment. 

“Come on, Brinny, give your old man a break, here.” 

Jaime tries to pitch in. “I could give you the number of a--” 

“Or I could do it myself, as usual,” Brienne interjects. Her father does not need a professional hairdresser that will bill them three hundred euros for a haircut she can do herself. 

Albeit he disagrees with her point of view, Jaime does not argue with her--maybe he does not want to put up that kind of show in front of Selwyn. Instead, he just points at the plenty of empty chairs on the terrace for her to pick one. 

She sits down, taking the chair closer to Selwyn, and accepts as well a bottle of water from her father. Also, Jaime goes into the kitchen briefly and returns balancing a tray on his hand and stump, with two cups of coffee and biscuits for the three of them. 

Being so taken care of and, in one word, being spoilt, feels wrong on so many levels that Brienne can hardly express so. She stays restless on her seat, staring alternately between her father and Jaime, looking for signs of awkwardness and nervousness, but none show up. Jaime keeps reading the newspapers, sending her more than suggestive glances now and then. Selwyn has his head tilted towards the sun, eyes closed, biting on a biscuit. Both men seem to be so at ease that at some point, she relaxes, too. 

Coffee in her hands, she has her fair share of biscuits before she leans back on the chair, settling amongst the pillows. Given the ungodly hour Jaime woke her up at and the exercise she just did, she’s almost certain she could fall asleep right there and then. 

And, sure enough, she wakes up with a jolt, some coffee spilling on her clothes, scaring both men in the process. 

“Dammit,” she scowls, standing and checking the damages on her clothes. Luckily, she’s wearing her black sports gear today, so it’s barely noticeable. 

“Well, there,” sighs Selwyn, reaching a hand as if to steady her. He couldn’t have helped her much, and anyway, Jaime jumped to his feet the moment Brienne did, and is now holding her by the arm.“Think you fell asleep there, honey. What sort of schedules do you keep around here, honey?” 

“I slept alright, Dad,” replies Brienne, forbidding herself from looking at Jaime and embarrassing them both in front of her father by wondering what sort of activities might keep her awake at night. “It wasn’t a matter of not getting enough sleep. 

“Let me read to you for a bit,” she says, taking the book on Selwyn's lap, just to distract everyone from her clumsiness and embarrassment. 

To her right, even Jaime folds his newspaper to give her and her reading his undivided attention. She’s about to give him a quick remark about him having more important matters to attend to, but he just shrugs, a look that says ‘it’s a free country’ on his eyes. With that, Brienne takes another sip of water and starts her reading. 

She gets through a couple of pages only, before the kids wake up and meet them at the terrace. For once, surprising as it is, they do not demand and prioritize their breakfast, but instead join Brienne, Selwyn, and Jaime on the terrace. They sit on the chairs, the veranda, and, in Brandon and Podrick’s cases, on Jaime and Selwyn’s laps, respectively. Brienne, however, cannot weather through all the attention and she drops her reading after one page. 

“Breakfast?” she suggests, slamming the book shut. 

“Yes, please,” begs Gendry, the first one to go back inside. 

Everyone follows suit, Jaime falling behind to keep up with Brienne, who wheels Selwyn back, too. He sets him by her side on the head table and gives him one stern look before he tries to argue that he’s not hungry--they both know the drill from one too many hospitalizations. He needs to recover his strength and make an effort, even if it gets him a stomachache. Knowing the drill as well as his mother and grandfather, Podrick goes all the way to the fridge and back to bring him a yogurt. 

“You won’t disappoint your grandson like that, now, will you?” asks Brienne when her father looks at the yogurt with disgust, Podrick well outside of the hearing range. 

Letting out a groan, he takes the spoon, mumbling something about mistreating the elderly under his breath. He only eats a couple of spoonfuls before saying he’s full, a statement that does not do well with either Brienne or Lena, but none force him to eat more. Breakfast is usually the worst time for him, right after he takes his first medication with an empty stomach that just makes him dizzy and puke for hours. 

Rules are rules and no one leaves the table until they’ve all finished their breakfast. That is to say, the kids keep on eating as if they hadn’t been fed for days straight, whereas the adults set down their cutlery and glasses of coffee and teas after a few minutes. No one minds at all, in fact, Brienne sees Jaime and the kids smiling. It’s been years since they had family breakfasts, if anyone remembers them at all. And somehow, for some reason, she, Selwyn, and Podrick belong to the picture now, as well. It’s just so much more than she’d imagined. 

“Right,” says Jaime when all eight kids have had the lion’s share. “I think it’s time for homework, now.” 

Everyone on the table freezes, Brienne and Selwyn included. She does not know how to respond any more than the children do. She was hired to take care of the kids during summer holidays and, granted, things vary during the academic year. Still, forcing the children to tackle homework so early in the morning on their first weekend back to school, seems unreasonable, even coming from Jaime. She’s uncertain if she holds any power or say over the matter, however, as she exchanges a panicked looked with Podrick, then Selwyn, then the kids. 

“This is one of your lame-ass jokes, I suppose, Father?” demands Arya after two seconds. 

“Why? D’you have any better ideas?” 

“Well. . . Yeah, of course! Anything is better than homework at nine o’clock on a Saturday, Father!” scowls Arya. 

“Good,” approves Jaime, sitting down again on the table. 

The response shocks all eight kids to the core once more, for they thought Jaime would impose homework on them, just like things used to be. As per Brienne, she believes she understands the purpose of this lecture and, when the stewards show up like any other morning to collect the dishes and leftovers of breakfast, she stands to give them a hand. She overhears the lecture on bargaining while she puts the cereal boxes back into their cabinets. 

“If you don’t agree with something, say it. Never be afraid of speaking up. Doesn’t matter who you’re up against,” says Jaime, looking alternatively at all the kids--all eight kids--sitting around the table. “The best way out of a situation you don’t particularly look forward to is suggesting alternative solutions that you and the other person can agree on. Aim high and hit low. ” 

“Bloody inspiring, Father,” scowls Gendry. “But what--?” 

“You don’t want to do homework, I say you do need to do some homework. How do you get out of doing homework?” interjects Jaime. 

Over the shoulder, Podrick frowns at Brienne, not understanding a thing. She smiles and points at Jaime for him to pay attention--he’s a smart kid, he’ll get it eventually, as will everyone else. Jaime’s just using all the knowledge he got from running the Lannister Empire to teach the kids a lesson they might find useful for the rest of their lives. 

“You used to force us to do homework,” Sansa reminds him slowly. 

“I can still force you if you want,” replies Jaime, tilting his head. “Come on, guys, what did I just say? I’m imposing martial law here and there's nothing you can do about it? Pod, what do you say? Let’s fetch those books and--” 

“Maybe we could play for a bit before doing homework?” asks Podrick, weary. Brienne nods, appreciating him speaking up. Of course, the older kids understood the concept of bargaining before this lecture, but did not comprehend that was what their Father was trying to teach them. Good Gods, basic communication is still hard to grasp in this family. 

“Well, okay, that’s an idea,” accepts Jaime, tapping the table with his finger. “Anyone else?”

“We could do no homework at all,” says Arya, going straight to skipping chores completely. 

“Now, that’s going way too far,” Jaime warns, over the chuckles of Selwyn and Brienne. “Yes, Gendry?” 

“Let’s sing for a while!” 

“We could practice for the Festival!” adds Robb, getting excited now. 

“Why stay inside?” reflects Arya. “Could we go on a ride?” 

“Take a swim down the lake?” is Brandon’s pitch. 

They all start to get so excited, jumping to their feet, yelling, and screaming their suggestions to be heard over everyone else’s choices. Jaime gives them a minute to brainstorm, making sure all eight kids have had a chance to offer at least one suggestion, before he orders them to settle down again. At that point, Brienne returns and sits with Pod--she is interested in knowing what activity will occupy their morning. But it isn’t solely a decision Jaime himself will make: he looks at her for the final saying. 

“Personally, I like the idea of going outdoors,” he says. There’s no wonder, really. After being trapped in his office all week long, he’s itching to be under the sunlight again. 

“I think we could all go for a walk,” settles Brienne, a decision met with cheers and applause from one and all. 

“Okay, okay, go change, you lot,” orders Jaime before the yells deafen them. 

Celebrating still, the kids leave the kitchen. Brienne congratulates Jaime on being so smooth with that lecture and he nods on response. 

“Got to start learning business strategy at some point,” he sighs, stretching his arms up above the head. 

The lecture finished, for the time being, Lena stands then, grabbing Selwyn’s chair. “I’m going to take him back to his room, now.” 

“Hold on a sec,” demands Jaime, lowering his arms and standing. “Why the hell would you do that?” 

“Sir--” 

“Jaime,” scowls Brienne at the same time as nurse Lena. 

“I’m sure he could do with some fresh air, just like the kids,” says the man. “He can come with us. We’ll take good care of him, it’s only a walk.” 

“Sir, I’m not really comfortable--” 

“Well, make yourself comfortable in any of the spare rooms in this house,” suggests Jaime, his tone indicating there’s no room for arguing or bargaining in this discussion. “We’ll see you later.” 

He somehow manages to push the wheelchair through the kitchen, while Selwyn beams upon somebody standing up to nurse Lena for him. As per Brienne, she just stands there, almost as shocked as the nurse herself, the apology on the tip of her tongue. She reconsiders and simply joins Jaime and her father outside. The latter would kill to spend the whole day outdoors, whereas the former feels no remorse at all over what’s just happened back there. 

“You weren’t planning on keeping me secluded in there, were you?” demands Selwyn. “Or was staring at the grounds the only thing I was allowed to do?” 

“Fine, Dad,” sighs Brienne, resting her hands on his shoulders to placate him. 

She’ll have a word with Jaime later if necessary, for now, he suggests they carry Selwyn’s chair down the stairs. Even without his right hand, Jaime manages. Selwyn can’t refrain himself from taking off his shoes and socks and resting his feet on the ground, feeling the grass, warm by the sun. If this too much exercise for him, he probably won’t tell them, but it’s crystal clear he needed to get out of that room, as big as it was. Brienne finds herself smiling upon seeing her father so eager concerning their little excursion. By the time the kids come around and Podrick is surprised to see Selwyn joining in, Brienne couldn’t possibly insist on her father staying behind. As a matter of fact, she knows they need whatever it takes to have Selwyn spend another day up the mountains. He’d love it. 

Nurse Lena appears then too, but not to stop Selwyn again. She just delivers a hat and sunglasses before she dismisses herself back into the house, letting the family go out on their stroll. 

The kids set off in front of them, while Brienne falls behind pushing Selwyn's chair, and Jaime joins her after some minutes, feeling bad to leave her on her own after he was the one who decided Selwyn should come with them. They stare at their kids beaming--Brienne still has a hard time using the word family--joking and playing around as kids should do. Jaime doesn’t even consider the possibility of making them stop and observe proper decorum. No, they just enjoy the sun and fresh air that the first week of school and work at the office has left them all in need of. 

Just like they did a few days back, on Podrick’s first day, here at the Manor, their intention is to show Selwyn the grounds and the property. They take him to meet the horses--the kids don't even suggest the possibility of taking a ride today of all days--and then they walk by the lake. At that point, Brienne and Jaime realize the kids didn’t just change into regular clothes: they schemed behind their backs to put on swimming suits and at that moment, they dive into the lake. Brienne almost follows them, scared for Rickon, but Sansa and Robb take good care of him. Not only that, but it also seems they gave him a few swimming lessons while she was away. 

“Children!” scowls Jaime. “This isn’t what we agreed on! You’re violating the terms of our agreement!” 

“Leave them be,” recommends Brienne, grabbing his arm before he resorts to taking out that damned whistle. “Just this once. They’re not committing any federal crimes and, either way, I don’t think they got around to sign any legally binding agreements.”

“This is called spoiling, you know.”

“Is that so wrong?” asks Selwyn behind them, a grin from ear to ear. “I think Brienne turned out alright. And you cannot fool me, Mr. Lannister. You’re dying to get in there with the children.” 

Surprised for her father’s keen perception, Brienne takes a step forward to look at Jaime straight in the eye. And he was not wrong: Jaime’s staring at the kids playing down there with a mixture of longing and envy. His earlier complaints concerned the fact that he could not possibly join them into the water. . . Says who, though? 

“You won’t let decorum get in the way of fun, will you?” asks Selwyn, amused voice. “Come on, it’s just us, family! Who are you trying to fool exactly? Why do you need to keep any decency or decorum at all?” 

In order to spare Jaime’s feelings and remorse, Brienne is already hatching an excuse for him, by saying that it is, incidentally, amongst family when people need to maintain their utmost decorum. At least that’s how Jaime was raised. But before those words come out of her mouth, she catches Jaime taking off his tie and jacket and jumping into the lake with his children, who greet him in the midst of cheers and applause. And, the second he comes out to the surface, they all attempt to playfully drown him. 

“Well, you’ve completely corrupted him, alright,” chuckles Brienne, crossing her arms. No wish to jump in as well to give either Jaime or the kids a hand on their shenanigans. 

“Aren’t you joining them too?” 

“Oh, no,” says Brienne, resting a hand on her father's shoulders. She knew what he was planning, that is, getting out of the damned chair and overexert himself. “I need to keep an eye on you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Selwyn grunts but settles back on his chair, knowing he is pushing it a little. He’s gotten, after all, a morning out. Brienne sits on the grass by his side, laughing at all the shenanigans Jaime and the kids pull on the water. After an hour or so, they come out, soaked to the skin, and Jaime suggests they go back home, which just gets a roar of laughter from Brienne. She waves at them all to sit with her around Selwyn. 

“There’s no hurry, dry off.”

She should have known Arya wouldn’t have the patience to sit still for long, and after a while, Brandon and Gendry pick up her restlessness, and then, also Podrick and Rickon. In the end, Jaime begs to go back home, if only so the kids can run wild and not get in everyone’s nerves, even though their clothes are still damp. 

“May I, Fräulein?” asks Robb, pointing at Selwyn’s wheelchair. Truth is, she was right not to change into regular clothes. The exertion and the high temperatures have gotten her all sweaty again. 

“You don’t have to,” she says, panting just a little bit. 

“I know. I’m just offering,” he replies, a big smile on his lips. Brienne’s uncertain, she does not want to push it, so her father solves the equation for her. 

“Come on, young man, get to work,” he orders, making the boy chuckle. 

“With your permission,” nods Robb, bowing by the waist at Selwyn. Brienne shrugs and gives him full charge of the chair. 

She then looks around, making sure they’re not forgetting any of the children and that they’re all having a good time. Arya and Gendry are chasing each other playing tag, Podrick has picked up a leaf from the ground and is tickling Bran with it on the neck and back, Sansa and Jon lead the entourage, talking softly about whatever book they're currently reading. Catching her breath, Brienne meets Jaime, and the two follow their family together in comfortable silence. 

“You didn’t lose your hand this time around, did you?” she asks, meant to make a joke. 

“What hand?” demands Jaime, showing her his stump. Brienne hadn’t even realized. . . The kids haven’t remarked on it the past few days, it seems even the younger ones are getting used to the stump and not the prosthetic. 

“So you _are_ more comfortable without it,” says Brienne. 

Jaime throws his arm around her shoulders and she’s just so at ease with it all that for once, she doesn't fear what everyone else will think of this gesture. 

“Only with family,” he says, kissing her cheek. 

_Nearest family,_ Brienne would like to mend for him. When it comes to Tywin Lannister, she's certain Jaime will have that prosthetic on. 

“So, about your father. . . Do you think he’s strong enough to take a trip up the mountains?” 

Biting her lip, she looks at her father, joking with Robb, Podrick, Jon, and Sansa, upfront the entourage. Robb seemed to be struggling a bit with the effort of pushing the chair and Jon has released him, before Brienne tried to intercede. She would love to take Selwyn to the mountains. In Vienna, he was usually stuck all day long at home, especially after a surgery. Given the chance, she would give him the whole world if possible. 

“I think it might be too early.”

“Maybe in a couple of weeks, then.” 

“There’s the Festival that weekend.” 

“Is there?” 

_Not again,_ sighs Brienne, her heart in a fist. Pretending he doesn’t care, rubbing the Festival off as if it were unimportant. He fails to realize how important it is to the kids. Brienne cannot read Jaime’s true feelings concerning the Festival. He should know how much the children would appreciate it, but it seems to be the last thing on his mind. 

Closer to the house, Brienne runs upfront to give Robb a hand with Selwyn’s chair up the steps to the terrace. Nurse Lena was waiting for them to read a magazine on the terrace and heads straight to Selwyn, dragging him back to his room by saying she needs to check his stats and he needs some rest. Jaime's the last one into the Manor, after checking there were no stray kids lost outside, and checks his watch. 

“Now, I believe you do need to tackle some homework.” 

“Dad, I’m kinda hungry,” confesses Rickon in a whisper. 

At that, Jaime drops his arm, sighing deeply. It doesn’t matter how important a chore, he would never deny his kids any basic need such as food and it seems the morning exertion got them all hungry. He makes a sign at Franz so they start preparing lunch and the dining room. 

Homework has to wait till after lunch and, although the kids do attempt to get out of it, Jaime and Brienne are adamant this time around. The two adults join the children with their own chores, that is, work from Jaime, and job hunting for Brienne. Now and then they do drop their answering messages and emails and sending out resumés to give the children a hand out with their homework. And they do make a few minutes break after Selwyn joins them too, a book on his lap. The poor man, however, keeps dozing off and on again, causing some snickers from the children until Jaime or Brienne remind them that they’re supposed to be doing some homework. Afterward, it’s singing time, just a couple of songs so they do not lose practice. 

Sunday is a repeat of the day before. They balance going out to exercise in the morning and homework in the afternoon, although Selwyn remains in his room the majority of the day, arguing he’s tired. He doesn’t eat much either, but he does join the rest of the family by mid-afternoon, after they’ve finished their homework, to participate in a few board games before dinner. The Lannister family think nothing about it, but Podrick and Brienne can read the signs because they’ve seen them all before. Selwyn’s not getting any better, his improvement is slower than anyone would like. He's getting tired much easier and sooner than usual, and him not eating much isn't a good sign, either. Still, he’s got the best possible care in the form of nurse Lena, so all they can do is cheer him up and keep him distracted with songs and games. 

By Monday, Brienne believes they all will weather through their new normalcy. Getting up early, dropping the kids one by one, spending the day handing our resumés, going back home for lunch and checking in on her father, and going back out to pick the children up from school. Jaime does make an effort to be back for dinner with the family, although with one look across the table, she knows his long hours will keep him in his study until late at night. 

“Ten minutes!” begs Gendry when Jaime points out it's time they went to sleep. 

“Even better--Fifteen minutes,” suggests Sansa. 

Tiredness leads to Jaime not understanding what in the world they're doing--even though he taught them about bargaining only a couple of days before. Brienne stands from her couch then. 

“While I commend you for speaking up your mind,” she says, “bargaining isn’t supposed to get you out of_ all_ your duties, I’m afraid.” 

“There are a few items off the table,” adds Jaime, now that he’s up to date with what they’re talking about. “Bedtime amongst them. Say goodnight, now.” 

Very few complaints raise--they knew in advance it was a long shot, at the very least on a weeknight. In turn, the kids stand and kiss their father goodnight, Podrick kissing Brienne instead, and file out of the drawing-room. In spite of them being eight kids, they manage to keep quiet out there as not to disturb Selwyn. He went to rest the minute he didn't finish her supper. 

“I made a very wrong move, didn’t I?” asks Jaime in despair, dropping on the couch beside Brienne. She chuckles, pulling a lock of golden hair behind his ear. 

“You just want to teach them about life and business,” she says. “I don’t think that’s a mistake.” 

He caresses her legs absentmindedly, praying the Gods she's right. After a few seconds, he comes out of his stupor, fighting a big yawn. 

“Speaking of business, I need to get back to work,” he says, standing before he falls asleep right there in Brienne’s warm, strong, and comfortable arms. 

“Yeah, I figured,” she nods, looking at him a little bit worried. “Don’t stay up too late, or I’ll set up a curfew for you, as well.” 

Jaime chuckles, finishing his drink before laying the glass on the coffee table. “You can invite me to your bed anytime, woman.” 

“If that’s how you’re going to get your eight hours of sleep, so be it.”

For a second, it seems as if Jaime’s pondering the idea, but then he just chuckles again. He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and rests a hand on her lower back, dragging her out of the drawing-room. 

_“Eight hours?_ I cannot remember the last time in my life I got eight hours of sleep.” 

Brienne stops, ready to fight Jaime over this, drag him to her chambers and make sure he does get a full night's sleep. Disbelieving how on Earth is he planning on imposing reasonable sleep patterns on his children's if he threw those out the window years back, Brienne drops Jaime’s hand and crosses her arms. 

“Well, you’re welcome to my room whenever you do want to get those eight hours of sleep.”

Even in the semidarkness, Brienne can tell that Jaime smirks at her, and she knows he can see the scarlet blush on her cheeks. She stands there, holding her breath as not to embarrass herself even more, while Jaime saves the distance between them and then gets ever so closer. Right until their noses are inches apart and his breath warms her chin. He sends a hand to cup her face and Brienne lets out an involuntary sigh. 

“I’m not even sure I’d get two hours of sleep if I went upstairs with you right now,” he whispers, his low and rugged voice doing unfair things deep inside her. 

“Am I really supposed to go up to my room now and try to sleep?” she complains. 

“You started it,” chuckles Jaime, leaning back to take in all of Brienne’s blushed and flustered face. 

Two can play at that game, however. Brienne leans back, her lips against Jaime’s ear, cheek against cheek, while her hand runs up and down his back. 

“Just so you know. . . I’ll finish on my own what you don’t have the guts to start.”

Jaime swallows with difficulty, and Brienne can confirm by the hardness between his legs that he knows exactly what she’s talking about--he can picture it perfectly. She chuckles in turn while she steps back. 

“And now_ I’m_ supposed to get any work done, after what you just said?” he demands. 

“You started it,” says Brienne, kissing him briefly, chastised, on the lips--letting him know what he's missing out on. She waves goodbye as she climbs up the stairs, half expecting to hear Jaime's steps following behind. 

Despite knowing Jaime and his sense of duty, she’d hoped he would skip work altogether and join her in her chambers, since she’s got no guests over tonight. But he doesn’t and Brienne is left so frustrated that she does need to get relieved first before attempting to get any sleep whatsoever. Still, she’s long cold by the time Jaime does climb up the stairs up to his room. 

He’s also one of the first ones to wake up, apart from the household staff, that is. Bearing in mind their last conversation, he sneaks into Brienne’s room for some minutes of cuddling and kissing and making out. Because of it, she needs to skip her jogging session altogether in order to be out of her bed before the kids do so. 

A week passes, and a sense of belonging and normalcy finally falls down on the family. The kids know the drill of school life better than she does, and Podrick slowly starts to get used to the schedules, homework, and life with seven siblings. Brienne knows everything is back to normal when Podrick starts raising his questions again and, this time around, Gendry and Brandon pitch in as well, showing natural childish curiosity about the world and exasperating Brienne and Jaime at the same time. 

“Where does the sun go when it’s dark?”

“Why do we have to be born young and grow old, why can’t we be born old and get younger every year? Wouldn’t that be more fun?”

“Is it true that we used to be monkeys? And why aren’t we anymore?” 

Jaime makes an effort to be there with the family for breakfast and dinner, although, of course, his days start and end much earlier and later than Brienne and his children. And even if he doesn’t make it back home in time, he makes it a point to text Brienne and the kids in advance, sending them all his good wishes and love.

Lastly, as per Selwyn, he’s not exactly getting better, but the good news is, he’s not getting worse, either, and Brienne will take any good news that comes her way. Even Sammy looks confident about Selwyn’s recovery whenever Brienne keeps him informed via phone calls. 

On Monday the kids also begin their afterschool activities, that is, painting and singing lessons as well as sports practices, which just leaves them exhausted by dinnertime. Which means, no more bargaining bedtime, either. 

As Jaime pointed out that night before school started, a peaceful week does not equal an uneventful week. On Sunday afternoon, as Brienne walks to Selwyn’s room to check on him before dinner, she stops and does a double-take. She returns to the chest of drawers she’s just walked past by and takes a better look at the family pictures--although they’re no longer. They’ve been replaced by drawings and paintings of said pictures. She discerns Brandon’s amazing art and Gendry’s talent for mixing up the colors, even Podrick’s drawings, and those horrible caricatures certainly bong to Robb. Taking a look around the walls, she sees that at least a dozen family portraits and pictures have been altered and replaced. She’s got no idea when that happened or if it’s still happening to this day, changing the portraits one by one, and if it's that second case, she does commend their commitment. That’s why she keeps quiet and allows the children to keep going with their experiment, to see how long it’ll take Jaime to realize. 

It does help to have uncle Tyrion around again. He comes back on Monday to stay with the family the whole week prior to the Festival, as he always does--and he might even stay the week after, too--and the kids enjoy having him around so much, Podrick included. 

“Don’t tell me they’re not singing at the Festival,” scowls Tyrion that night. He could read the mood during dinner and saw this was a sore subject. It was also a bad time to engage the discussion, though. 

“I’m not really sure,” confesses Brienne in a whisper, looking at Jaime over the shoulder pouring himself another scotch. “It’s hard to read your brother.”

“Them not participating would be a terrible, terrible mistake. Salzburg will love them!”

“I know, Tyrion. But your brother--” 

“Is an _asshole.”_

“I was just going to say that he’s stubborn and very protective over his family,” chuckles Brienne, hoping against odds Jaime did not hear Tyrion just now. “But, yeah, your definition works, too.”

They look over at Jaime, who’s talking with Brandon about the book the school has assigned them to read. His ears must be burning, but he shows no signs that he’s heard anything from the conversation. And until he does not give them a straight, positive answer--or much worse, a negative one--the whole family feels uneasy and on standby. 

“So, about those family pictures--”

This time around, Brienne does burst out laughing, unable to keep the roaring fit private. Even though they have no idea why, even the kids laugh with her. 

“You saw them too?” she asks. 

The next day, the kids try a funny change of uniforms: Gendry’s wearing Arya’s skirt whereas she’s wearing Gendry’s trousers. Jon, Sansa, and Robb also swapped uniforms. Even Brandon seems to have gotten ahold of a spare uniform from Arya, although the size does not fit him at all. Upon seeing them, Tyrion falls to the ground from laughing and Jaime just groans, rolls his eyes, and informs everyone he’ll wait by the car. He’s had too many long days and bad news altogether to deal with his kids so early--after laughing about it, they go back upstairs to change. 

“I think skirts suit me, though,” Jon says later, on the car ride to the city. 

“They really don’t,” scowls Robb. 

“How can you stand them?” demands Gendry, who after all didn’t enjoy the prank nearly as much as he thought he would. “It itches so much!”

“I know, right?” complains Arya. 

“You get used to it,” Sansa shrugs, receiving a hatred look from her sister--Arya was certainly pushing for a debate on the uniforms and maybe bargaining about them, albeit knowing that was never going to have any success. 

“Well, at least you know what you’re going to wear for Halloween,” says Brienne, trying to placate everyone. Upon the silence that falls down in the car, she looks around. “Your school doesn’t do costumes?” 

“Not really,” says Robb. He’s fixing his tie, trying his best not to look at his father--now that they know different. They have never had a proper Halloween at school because they did not know that was ever an option. 

“Do not worry, we’ll have our own costume party at home,” says Brienne, to the delight of everyone in the car. Jaime excluded. 

Everything seems to be getting on track, finally, to the point where, by Thursday, Brienne feels confident enough to shuttle a little bit the schedules. After spending the whole morning in job interviews and handing out resumés, she surprises Christopher by refusing a lift back home for lunch. She probably imagined, but she believes she sees a little smile on Christopher’s lips when she tells him where he should drop her off. 

Fifteen minutes later, the chauffeur stops in front of Lannister Inc., and Brienne steps off the car, taking her cell phone. Jaime answers right away, to her biggest surprise. 

“You’re not busy?” she asks. 

“For you? Never. You done with your interviews for today?”

“I’ve got a couple more in the afternoon, but I still need to eat. Figured you could use lunch, as well,” says Brienne. “Have you got twenty minutes to spare?” 

“How about sixty?” 

Brienne chuckles, resting against the car. “A whole hour? For real?”

Less than five minutes later, Jaime leaves the building, the brightest smile on his lips, unaware, perhaps, of the people gawking and stopping out of deference to his name. He doesn’t give a damn, just waves at Christopher, and goes straight to meet Brienne--and her lips. She moves out of his reach just in time, blushing a bit as she looks over his shoulder. They’re literally standing outside of Jaime’s workplace. Tywin Lannister apparently already knows about her and Jaime, but there’s no need to spread those rumors in such a spectacular way in front of colleagues and clients. 

Understanding the situation, Jaime takes a respectful step back, looking over his shoulder at the dozen people gawking at them from inside the building. 

“Let’s go,” sighs Jaime, not at all bothered, throwing an arm around her shoulders. 

They pick a fast food restaurant off the corner, buy a couple of hamburgers and Cokes. Jaime does not pester Brienne anymore about her job interviews, and Brienne doesn’t question Jaime too much about the company, knowing there are things he’s just not ready to say. 

They’ve got still thirty minutes to spare within Jaime’s agreed time, so Brienne takes him somewhere else for desserts: Jorah’s. He’s just uncertain as the kids were upon seeing the small place, but Brienne drags him inside, promising him he’ll enjoy it. 

“Hold it,” demands Jaime when Jorah comes around with Brienne’s order. “Are these--?”

“Try them and you’ll see.”

The bunch of cookies are, of course, the same ones Jaime fell in love with that morning, what feels like a lifetime ago. He enjoys them just as much today, he even jokes about that he’s calling dibs on the whole butch of cookies. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Lannister, there’re more of those where they came from,” Jorah jokes when he returns to the table. 

“Hope so,” says Jaime, “cause I’m taking all of them home. And do not call me Mr. Lannister, please.” 

“Alright,” accepts the owner. A forced smile on his lips now, he looks over at Brienne. She understands the meaning of that look and offers him to join them on the booth with them. Jorah sits and lowers his voice, not that there are any other customers. “Renly and Loras told me about your father’s condition. I’m really, really sorry. If there’s anything I can do for you--” 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she says. “But except for a free butch of cookies, which I will not be accepting, either way, there’s nothing you can do.” 

Jorah smiles politely, rubbing his hands on his trousers. “Well, just keep it in mind. In the meantime, you know you’re welcome here anytime.”

“Yes, thank you, Jorah.” 

“Actually,” says Jaime, taking a sip of his coffee, “you wouldn’t happen to have any job offers available?” 

“Jaime! Pay him no attention, please, Jorah,” shrieks Brienne, horrified, hitting Jaime on the arm. The last thing Jorah knew, she was working for Mr. Lannister taking care of his seven children. What is he to think now? Well, he’s just seen her having lunch with her supposed employer, so he could have guessed their relationship wasn’t strictly professional, but even that being the case. . . 

“You’re looking for a job?” asks Jorah, just a little bit surprised. Instead of questioning her or Jaime about it, he just thinks it through, scratching his beard. “Incidentally, I do have a job for you. One of my employees is leaving on maternity leave next month.”

“Jorah,” scoffs Brienne, waiting for the punch line that does not come. After a second, she frowns again. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Of course, as serious as a heart attack,” he nods. “I need someone responsible and reliable. If you were under the employment of Mr. Lannister, I already know you’re more than qualified for the job.” 

“Oh, she’s qualified, alright,” says Jaime. “She’s tenacious, loyal, headstrong, open-minded, charming, loving--” 

“I don’t think those two have anything to do with the job,” Brienne warns Jaime in an undertone--he was getting off track completely, embarrassing her. 

“Maybe they do,” replies Jorah.“You know the business, Brienne. I need sociable and friendly people, with a good memory, comfortable working in a team, as well as employees with experience as baristas or cooking.” 

Before anything is settled, Jaime’s phone rings. He phishes it out of his pocket immediately and apologizes for taking the call. In order not to bother him, for it might be an important business call, Jorah and Brienne scoot out of the booth and the owner waves Brienne over to the counter, where they resume their conversation. 

“Well? What do you say? I could pay you on goods and services as in cookies if you’d like,” suggests the man, leaning against the countertop. Under his arm, behind the glass, Brienne catches the sight of dozens of different cookies. 

“I’m not sure, Jorah,” she confesses. “I never wanted to get a job by nepotism. Or pity.”

“I’m doing none of those,” replies Jorah. “I suggested it because I know you, I think you fit the kind of employee I’m looking for, and think you can fit right in with the job and the rest of your colleagues. So, real question is, when can you start?”

She blushes a bit, dropping her head. Behind her, Jaime’s raised his voice almost without meaning to; it sounds like bad news. 

“I know that I should say I can start tomorrow morning,” she says, “and I really want to, but the situation at home. . . My father. . .” 

“Say no more,” Jorah interjects, taking her hand. “The offer has no expiration date. When things are calmer, get back to me, okay?” 

“Dammit,” scowls Jaime, startling them both, as he appears by Brienne’s side. An annoyed and worried look on his face, he phishes out his wallet, apologizes for the rude interruption, and asks Jorah for their check--as well as a butch of those cookies to take away. 

Jorah leaves right away to oblige Jaime’s commands, whereas Brienne sighs in regret, staring at the man by her side. The ruthless, authoritative Lannister shows up again, she reckons, resting a hand on Jaime’s arm. More bad news, his tense face, and frowned eyebrows tell her. What is it this time? The company? His father? The children? Why does he refuse to talk to her, when he must know she can help him? At least by supporting him, if she’s unable to do anything else? 

“What’s going on? Work?”

“No, it’s not the Company.”

For a second, it seems like that’s all Jaime’s going to tell her. But then Brienne clears her throat and Jaime gives her a straight answer. 

“It’s Arya,” he responds, pinching the bridge of his nose. Given how worried and rattled he looks, Brienne refrains from making any snide remarks or amused jokes regarding the girl’s natural behavior. “I have to go to school. It seems she got in trouble again.” 

Brienne closes her eyes at that, sighing deeply--it seems things will not simmer down in the near future. Not with eight children. That is not a possibility for them. 

“We’re looking at a two or three-day suspension, at the very least,” scowls Jaime, tapping the counter with his wallet as they wait for Jorah and that check. “And that’s if I can convince the Dean not to open her an academic record.” 

“This has happened before,” Brienne points out--Jaime knows the drill all too well. 

“Yes, a few times, but, well, this one’s got to be a record, for sure,” he points out, looking everywhere around except for Brienne. Annoyed, ashamed, Brienne cannot tell, but he is certainly avoiding her eye. “She usually gives me about a month, maybe even a month and a half, before getting into trouble. Lets me fall into a false sense of normalcy and security. . .” 

“You know, Arya’s not a predator, Jaime,” she can’t help but point out. 

Jaime chuckles, a burst of saddened laughter, resting heavily on the counter. He cannot exactly agree with Brienne on this one. She didn’t even spare his poor heart on such a difficult and taxing week like this one. 

“I had hoped this year was going to be different,” he says, looking at her briefly before dropping his eyes again, playing with his tie. “But I was wrong, of course. I just make the same mistake, year after year, of having hope.”

As Jorah returns with the check and Jaime delivers his credit card, Brienne holds his arm, hoping there was something she could say or do. But there isn’t. She just knows Jaime’s foul mood wasn’t caused solely because of Arya’s shenanigans, he’s got, per usual, a thousand worries occupying his mind. . . And he still won’t share them with her.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime head to Arya's school for one of their first tests as parents and get the proof that families come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. In the midst of it all, they also find some time alone to have a heart-to-heart.

_Why is he even surprised or shocked at all by this point? _ he wonders as he pays the bill. 

Sure, Brienne coming here has turned all of their lives inside out, but she’s not a miracle worker, is she? This is Arya, they’re talking about. Every member of this family has changed so much in the past few weeks, but no change can be that big, that permanent. It was only wishful and stupid thinking of him hoping Arya of all people would have grown wiser. 

The worse part is, it just _had_ to happen this week. The week of the Festival. The week where, it seems, everything will change. Tywin traveled to Salzbourg on Monday to attend the Festival as every year and has been breathing over Jaime’s neck ever since. Nagging and pestering him every minute he was at the company, pressuring him into meetings, arguments, and bargainings that so far have lead them nowhere. No magic solutions have appeared out of thin air. He’s figured out that, unfortunately, frighteningly, music cannot solve everything. Doesn’t matter how much he wishes it could. 

And in the meantime, he’s supposed to take care of his children and to keep Arya in check. Who was it who said the word ‘impossible’ did not exist in their dictionary? He would love to chat with that wise man. 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing Brienne’s arm to lead her out of the café. “Christopher is waiting outside.”

“Jaime, hold on,” begs Brienne, making the man freeze out of shock. “I. . . I cannot come.”

“What do you mean, you can’t come?” he demands, trying to control his voice. He _needs_ her there. If he goes to the school alone, he’ll just go back to how things were before, too. The usual bickering, scolding, yells. He cannot allow that to happen, he_ refuses_ to let it happen and alienate Arya once more. 

“I had a couple of interviews this afternoon, remember?” 

“Oh, fuck those. You’ve already got a job, haven’t you?” scowls Jaime, disbelieving that should be Brienne’s big worry right about now. He takes a few more steps but she shrugs his hand off. 

“That would be rude, Jaime.” 

“Send them a card and a few cookies if you’d like, they’ll survive the disappointment,” he says. 

“What if I ever need another--?”

“I’ll personally find you a job if you’re ever fired from here, I promise,” says Jaime. “Right now, I’m begging you to come with me. Please.”

Beg and please are two words the Jaime she once met would never have used. Seeing how desperate he is, how much he truly seems to believe he needs her help handling Arya and the rest of the kids, Brienne cannot shrug him off again. He needs some confidence in his skills, too, but that’s a conversation for another day. 

She smiles and nods, the interviews be damned. Jaime sighs out of relief, takes her hand again, and leads out of the café. 

Christopher’s there, waiting by the car to get the door for them. He needs no indications from Jaime, he already knows where they’re going and, judging by his inability of making small talk today of all days, he’s aware of the Arya situation, too. 

Jaime spends the whole drive silent, looking out the window, anxiously tapping his fingers on the knee. Brienne grabs his good hand into hers, trying to soothe his worries with a kiss on the palm. The smile he addresses her doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and when they descend the car, Brienne fears the look on his face predicts a heavy scolding. Maybe it was a good thing to come to the school to act as a mediator. 

This is the second time she steps inside the school, the first being the time when Jaime has arranged a meeting with Vice-principal Lechner to get to know Podrick. And she’s lucky she’d already had a chance to see the building, because Jaime seems to be training today for a marathon. Even with her longer legs, she has a hard time keeping up with him, and it’s impossible for her to stare with longing at the magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the patterns of the marble tiles on the floor, the details carved on the wooden doors, or the paintings hanging from the walls she can only hope are donations from the wealthy families whose kids attend the school. 

Knowing the route by heart, Jaime takes her directly to the Principal’s office. But then, they both freeze, Jaime’s anger deflated, Brienne’s utmost shock and bewilderment flaring. There’s Arya sitting on a chair, arms crossed, a murderous aura stemming from her whole system, looking away from a kid Brienne does not know, probably her same age, moaning because of the bandages on his nose, bloodstains on his uniform. 

But there’s a third kid sitting there no one warned them about and they, under no circumstances, had expected to see. 

_“Pod!”_ shrieks Brienne. Sitting between Arya and the other kid, Podrick drops his head, terrified and looking adequately ashamed. “What are you doing here?” 

“Mr. Lannister, good afternoon,” Principal Maurer greets them, coming out of his office as soon as he saw Jaime. He holds out a hand but no one cares to shake it. “Hello, miss--?” 

“Brienne,” she says. The man looks utterly uncomfortable using her first name, but she could care less about his feelings at the present moment. “Podrick, explain yourself! What in the world has happened? What have you done?!” 

“Brinny, let’s calm down,” begs Jaime, holding her shoulder. He surprises everyone--Brienne, the children, even Principal Maurer--for being the one person to keep a level head right now. But he knows for a fact there must have been a very good reason to have Podrick out here, too. Arya’s proficient at getting into trouble, sure, but dragging Podrick into it. . . There’s more to the story than they imagine, he can tell. For once, he’s the one to understand they need to listen and see reason before they become judge, jury, and executioner. 

“Please, we can talk it out in my office,” insists Principal Maurer. “Step inside, Mr. Lannister, Miss--” 

The Principal is at a loss for words again regarding Brienne’s title until Jaime provides him with an answer--Fräulein Tarth. Feeling much more comfortable having a title to address Brienne with, Maurer welcomes them into his office. He offers them the two chairs in front of his desk, Jaime unconsciously helping Brienne onto the one on the left, so he doesn’t have to let go of her hand throughout the meeting. They both refuse a cup of coffee and Maurer sits across from them. 

“I’m so sorry if my son caused any troubles today,” Brienne says hastily. At the interview, she did promise Podrick was a well-behaved and peaceful boy who denounces violence. Right now, it seems that she fell into the same lie every parent falls while talking about their children. Jaime squeezes her hand, hearing the desperate tone in her voice. “I would beg you not to expel him from--” 

“Please, Fräulein, there’s no need for an expulsion,” Maurer waves the suggestion away. 

“There isn’t?” asks Brienne, her voice breaking just a little bit. 

“I should probably start at the beginning,” says Maurer, apologetic tone, entwining his fingers over the desk. “According to Professor Leitner, there was an argument at class, which developed into a brawl, between Miss Lannister and Mr. Fischer. As I understand, she interrupted the class and proceeded to. . . Punch him on the nose.”

“Of course, she did,” scowls Jaime, trying to find a more comfortable position on his chair, embracing for the upcoming sentence. “Will the kid require professional medical assistance?” 

“He’s been taken care of by the school nurse,” Maurer says, dismissing the possibility of the kid spending any time at the nearest hospital. “He’s going to be alright, he doesn’t require any stitches. But the fact remains, Mr. Lannister--” 

“Yes, I know,” he sighs. “How many days will Arya be suspended?” 

“She can come back tomorrow.” 

“Excuse me?” demands Jaime after a brief pause, exchanging one look with Brienne to make sure he heard it right. This time around, Brienne squeezes his hand under the table, reminding him that breathing is kind of quintessential to keep alive. “No expulsion at all?”

“No, sir.” 

“And her record?” 

“No records. After discussing the incident with Professor Leitner and Professor Reidl, your daughter’s tutor, they both deemed it appropriate and sufficient, on this occasion, to put Miss Lannister into after school detention for two weeks.” 

Completely at a loss for words, Jaime stutters for some long seconds, hanging onto Brienne’s hand as if it was a liferaft. He would like to ask for more information and details about the whole situation and reasoning behind such a light sentence for Arya, but he’s equally scared that discussing it at greater length will only lead to reconsideration. 

“If that’s what you deem fit,” he whispers in the end, resting against his chair. 

“Hold on a second,” demands Brienne, not all questions answered just yet. “But then. . . What about Podrick? How was he involved in the whole thing?” 

For the first time, Principal Maurer looks a bit uneasy behind his desk. The smile that he gives Brienne does not soothe her worries, although a heavy weight’s been lifted off her shoulders since the Principal said Podrick did not initiate nor participate in the fight. 

“It seems he was the subject of the brawl, Fräulein Tarth,” explains Maurer. “As I understand, Miss Lannister was defending your son from some choicest remarks Mr. Fischer said during class.” 

“She did?” asks Jaime, flabbergasted. Craning his neck, he looks through the windows at the kids waiting for their sentence, as if seeing Arya for the first time. 

“That’s what Professor Leitner said. You can speak to her if you’d like to hear her testimony.” 

“It’s okay,” whispers Brienne, as shocked as Jaime himself. 

“Seeing as this was more of a family matter than an academic issue,” proceeds the Principal, who’s scared to make eye contact with Jaime and spark his anger issues, and with Brienne whom he just does not know well enough yet, “the School should remain neutral and out of it while the parents handle it indoors. Of course, we offer our assistance in any way you need, starting with those seminars I mentioned earlier.” 

“Yes, I believe that’s about it,” agrees Jaime, with that authoritative voice which does not allow any possible response. He stands, buttoning his jacket, putting an end to the conversation even though it should be Principal Maurer the one to conclude the meeting. Maurer, however, jumps to his feet too and Brienne follows suit. “We’ll take it from here.” 

“Very well, then,” accepts the Principal, leading the way outside. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Lannister, Fräulein Tarth.” 

As soon as Jaime and Brienne emerge from the Principal’s office, Podrick and Arya jump off their chairs, explanations--or maybe just old-fashioned excuses--at the tip of their tongues. But then they freeze, waiting for their parents’ ruling. 

Jaime and Brienne have, to say the least, mixed feelings about it all, and don’t even know where to start. That manual about the universe Podrick and Jaime talked about back in Vienna sounds very useful at the moment, he sighs, especially if it could provide some parenting tips to deal with a situation like this one. 

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

The kids collect their school bags immediately, Podrick keeping his head low, but they couldn’t ask the same restraint form Arya, too. She looks at her classmate Mr. Fischer over the shoulder as she walks past him. 

“You know, families come in all shapes and sizes, you assh--”

“Arya,” Jaime warns sternly just before she insults her classmate right in front of Principal Maurer and her punishment is exponentially worse because of it. “Let’s go.” 

The two adults leading the way, the two kids following behind with heads dropped, they walk across a silent and quiet school. Brienne and Jaime exchange one look and the same feeling: they wish they could have two minutes alone to plan their strategy--an empty classroom, or maybe the bathroom would suffice. They had not expected their parenting skills to be put to the test so damned soon. The only thing they can agree on is that a united front is better than doing this separately, Jaime as Arya’s father and Brienne as Podrick’s mother. And they think they overall share the same thoughts over the whole thing. 

Unable to wait around two more hours for Gendry to finish his classes and take him back home with them, they leave the school. Christopher gets the door open for them and, besides a formal and polite greeting addressed to Arya and Podrick, remains out of the brawl. He goes around the car and drives off right away, while inside adults and minors seem to have engaged in a silent treatment contest. 

Podrick’s the first one to break it, leaning forward, a desperate plea on his voice. 

“Mr. Lannister, is Arya in any trouble? Because, I don’t know what the Principal told you, but Arya did nothing wrong. She was defending me! If she’s in trouble and you seem fit to punish her, you’ll need to punish me, too.” 

“First of all,” says Jaime, raising a finger, his voice not as stern as his daughter and the Tarth family members had feared, “it’s not Mr. Lannister. It’s Jaime, please--it has been for a while, now. And, secondly. . . Arya? Do you think, too, that you did absolutely nothing wrong?” 

She answers while looking out the window, a tired and monotonous tone--she knows what her Father expects from her. She knows, as well, that she’ll probably be unfairly punished because of her actions. 

“Punching that kid was wrong, I suppose.” 

That freezes Podrick for a second, as he blinks and stutters. He’d forgotten about that tiny detail and he sighs. “Well, yeah, okay, that was bad. But Mom, Jaime, don’t you think that she had more than compelling reasons for--?” 

“Violence can hardly ever be justified, Podrick,” Brienne tries to argue. “What am I always telling you? When you’re at a crossroads, including a potential brawl at the school with one of your classmates, you speak up. You use your words and your arguments--” 

“Oh, right,” scowls Arya, a dramatic roll of eyes. “How could I have forgotten? Words are my strongest weapon, am I right? I’ll make sure to remember it. So, the next time that idiot dares to insult Podrick and messes with him, I’ll just say that he’s hurt my feelings and beg him not to do it again. Or, better yet, maybe I’ll _sing_ it to him. That _ought_ to teach him a lesson.” 

“Arya,” begs Jaime, raising a hand to stop her dramatic ranting and sarcasm pouring from every word. “Quit your lip, please. Brienne was just trying to explain that there are other ways to answer an offense.” 

Muttering something under her breath, Arya goes back to staring out the window. Jaime and Brienne sigh silently too, uncertain. Brienne squeezes Jaime’s hand resting between them and slithers down the seats, closer to their kids. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks, trying a different approach now. 

“I’m fine,” Arya says, covering her hand. 

“Look, kids,” sighs Brienne. “We want to help you. But to do that, you need to help us out, here, too. You need to tell us what happened.” 

For about ten seconds, Jaime and Brienne fear that the kids won’t open up and they wouldn’t know what they’re supposed to do or say next if they don’t. But, after long consideration, Arya speaks up, looking at Podrick. 

“Stefan started insulted him,” she says. “Called him bastard, low-class, worthless. . . And saying that he does not belong in the family. That we may lie to ourselves all we want, but that Podrick is not and will never be a Lannister.” 

Now it’s Podrick the one to avoid his mother’s and Jaime’s eye, looking down on his lap, biting his lip as to refrain from crying. Jaime leans forward to be at the same level as Brienne and, when he speaks, he uses his sweetest voice possible to show he’s not as mad a person as many occasions before. 

“Arya, I know where this is coming from, I do, and I commend you for defending Podrick. But Podrick’s living with us, he goes to school with you, you sing and play together. To you, is he a member of the family or isn’t he?” 

“Yes, he is! That’s what I was trying to tell Stef--”

“Does it matter what that boy thinks?” Jaime presses with a small smile, now that Podrick’s looking up, hopeful eyes. “You know where you and your siblings stand. You know where I and Brienne stand. To all intents and purposes, Podrick is a member of this family.” 

Upon those last few words, Brienne’s breath catches and she can even see Podrick blushing a little bit, surprised and overwhelmed by the simple vehemence and veracity that Jamie’s words exude. 

“Does it matter what a boy like Stefan thinks?” the man proceeds. 

“Well, yeah! It pisses me off! He’s an asshole!” 

“Arya, please,” begs Brienne. “There’s no need for that kind of language.” 

“It’s the truth,” she insists, crossing her arms. 

“You can preach the truth all you want, we’re just saying that punching is not the way to go about it, are we clear?” Jaime insists, trying to get his point across. “Violence should not be your go-to plan whenever someone puts you on edge. It’d be chaos if everyone did that. Heck, I wouldn’t have a company to run if I started punching clients.” 

“Wouldn’t that method resolve so many of the company’s problems?” retorts Arya. 

Startled, Jaime can’t find a good answer in time, and he sits back on the seats. “Don’t be a smart-mouth, missus.” 

“Arya, if something like this ever happens again,” Brienne resumes before this evolves into a family feud, “you must go to a teacher, come to us, or use your words to fix the conundrum. But do not resort to violence. Is that something you could do?” 

“I can try,” says the girl, non-committal. 

“Very well. Make an effort next time and ask for help. And if that doesn’t work out, we’ll see what can be done,” approves Brienne. That’s as good a promise they were going to get, she tells Jaime with a tilted head, sitting back, too. Looking around, she realizes they’re very close to the Lannister mansion, already. Yes, as Jaime pointed out--home. 

“So. . . How deep in trouble are we?” asks Podrick, a bit frightened, for the conversation did not clear that up. 

_Here we go, _ Jaime braces himself. The moment of truth. The question he’d been fearing almost as much as the kids did. He cannot become again the ruthless, authoritative father he used to be with his children. But he cannot overlook what’s happened here, either, and become an overprotective, negligent, and belligerent father figure, either. A fine line exists there, a difference Brienne opened his eyes to, but a line he’s still struggling with. 

Whatever his feelings might be, Arya knows she did something wrong, and she cannot get out of this one scot-free, he sighs. They’ve just reached home and Christopher’s descending the car to open the front gates. 

“To begin with, you’re going to apologize to that boy,” he says. 

“Sure,” scowls Arya. “Right after he apologizes to Podrick.” 

“Arya,” Brienne says, “I’m sure the kid’s parents will have a talk about what’s transpired here and the boy will come to his senses, as well.” 

“If he doesn’t, you come to us,” instructs Jaime, looking at Podrick now. The boy nods once, appreciating Jaime caring so much for him, shown throughout the entire conversation. “Other than that. . . You both are going back to school tomorrow morning.” 

“Tomorrow?” shrieks Podrick. 

“Wait, what?” demands Arya, but Jaime sneaks out of the door Christopher’s just opened for them, dragging Brienne outside, too. 

The kids follow suit, completely at a loss, into the house, barely addressing a look, much less a word, to the driver or the housekeeper who comes to greet them back. They’re too stunned by the news, especially Arya, who cannot convince herself this isn’t one more--and very bad joke--from her father. 

“It isn’t, honey,” Brienne promises. 

“There’s no way I’m going to school tomorrow,” she insists, as if she knew better than her Father and Brienne her punishment. 

“You’re not skipping any classes, young lady,” says Jaime. He sees now Arya was just looking forward to a long weekend, skipping Friday altogether. “Your sentence is afterschool detention for a couple of weeks, but that’s it.” 

“This time,” adds Brienne sternly, so they understand the deal: this cannot happen again. 

Shocked, but fearing the sentence will be worse if they speak up or disagree, Arya and Podrick keep their mouths shut. Still, they cannot pretend nothing’s happened and let them enjoy the afternoon as if it were a regular weekday--starting with their extracurricular activities. 

“Well, then, get your textbooks and go study,” Jaime instructs. “No playing or singing or watching TV today.” 

The kids accept their punishment graciously, grabbing their backpacks from the floor, and headed out for the dining room to get some work done. Behind them, once they’re out of earshot, Jaime and Brienne sigh deeply, barely believing they got through the whole thing. She rests against the veranda, Jaime runs a hand through his hair before he just drops on the stairs, looking at the door the two kids disappeared through. 

After a minute, Brienne joins Jaime on the stairs, entwining their hands, staring blankly at the wall in front of them. 

“Well, I think we passed our first test as parents,” chuckles Brienne. 

“Maybe,” grants Jaime. “Are you going to say this is the first test of many?” 

“Do you really have to ask? We’re talking about eight children here, Jaime.” 

He sighs deeply, closing his eyes. Every time they're reminded of the big leap of faith they did by forming one big, happy family, they can’t help but feel remorse and guilt and fear. Was it the right thing to do or are they all going to regret it, their children included? Only time will tell, although it would be nice to have some reassurance. Of course, parents seldom do and, as they’re forced to do right now, they tend to navigate without a map, nor a crystal ball to predict the future. 

“This was harder than I expected.” 

“Yes, it was,” Brienne concurs, caressing his arm. “It’s a long road till perfect parenting if somebody ever reaches it.” 

“You must be pretty close, by now.” 

“Don’t flatter me,” scowls Brienne, leaning against Jaime’s side, so close that Jaime can feel her breath against his face. 

“Oh, miss Tarth. You _deserve_ to be flattered and worshipped.” 

Chuckling, although a bit embarrassed by Jaime’s words nonetheless, Brienne hides her blush by hiding her face against his neck. He throws his arm around his shoulders and kisses her hair, unable to move just yet, trying to soothe his nerves and anxiety down. This was easier when he let the governesses do all the talking and scolding, although he now sees it was not right. 

Aware that one minute can become one hour sitting there, Brienne gives Jaime a peck on the lips and leans forward, emphasizing that she’s leaving and that it was only a kiss. 

“I should check in with my father.” 

“And I probably should go make sure the kids are really getting some homework done,” nods Jaime, standing too. 

They descend the stairs, hand in hand, and in the hall they let each other go slowly, a bit reluctantly, as if they hadn’t spent almost every minute awake together in the past few weeks. Jaime goes straight to the dining room and, before announcing his arrival, he stands in the darkness, trying to figure out if going in there will be beneficial or counterproductive. But, at the very least, they’ve got their notebooks and textbooks on the table, although they’re just talking at the moment. 

“Sorry I got you in trouble,” says Podrick then. 

“Not at all,” chuckles Arya. “I think you got me out of trouble, actually. Last year I would have been suspended and on house arrest for at least a whole week--and that’s being kind on the Principal and Father.” 

“I should have said it earlier,” Podrick says, scratching the back of his neck with his pen, “but thank you, really, Arya.” 

“Well, you’re more than welcome. You’re part of the family now, which means I get to beat the ass of anyone who messes with you.” 

“Thank you?” laughs Podrick. “That’s. . . Oddly comforting.” 

Out in the hall, Jaime needs to bite his tongue, hard, to refrain from laughing and giving out his position and the fact that he’d been listening in on the conversation. Figuring they can give the kids a vote of confidence and that they’ll get _some_ work done by themselves, he turns around, headed for his study. 

Halfway up the stairs, a beam of sun hits his eye through the stained-glass windows and he stops mid-step, squinting at the afternoon sunlight. Sure, work’s an option on the table that he really should tackle, or else he’ll never hear the end of it tomorrow at the office. But it’s early hours still and he’d much rather spend some more time with Brienne. So, with that idea in mind, he changes direction. 

Downstairs, Brienne has received very good news regarding her father. It seems he’s slowly regaining his strength, up to a point where he’s spent most of the day outside on his terrace, drinking in the sunlight. Provided that she, Jaime, and the kids were to spent the whole day away, he’s managed to get some peace and quiet. 

Lena leaves to give them some privacy and Brienne settles on the chair beside her father, taking off the formal black jacket she’d been wearing for all those interviews. She accepts the tea Mia offers her and then Selwyn points out that Brienne has gotten home early despite the job interviews he knew she had scheduled this afternoon, so she has no option but to tell her father about the brawl Arya and Podrick got into at school. 

“It’s funny,” she says after finishing her explanations, hoping that Selwyn’s insight will help her and Jaime, somehow. “They’ve only known Podrick for a few days and they already treat him like a member of the family.” 

“From where I’m standing, they consider you _both_ part of the family already,” Selwyn points out softly. 

Unable to disagree, Brienne nods, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her knees. 

“Why do you look so blue? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, or afraid, honey,” says Selwyn, reaching a hand to take Brienne’s hand. “Wasn’t that the whole point of coming here? To start a family with Mr. Lannister and his kids?” 

“Yeah. It was,” she confesses in the end. 

“The problem here is that you haven’t made it official yet,” Selwyn says, trying to maneuver his chair to be closer to Brienne. “You don’t know where you stand, the kids don’t know where you stand. . . It’s difficult to make life-changing decisions in such circumstances. But really, all you have to do is say two words and set up a date.” 

“Dad!” explodes Brienne, certain that her laughing fit can be heard all over the mansion. “You’re not talking about marriage, are you? This is like the worst possible timing in history!” 

“You haven’t talked about it?” 

“Well, now, we have. But if it happens, it’s going to happen much further down the line, Dad--it won’t be tomorrow or the day after that,” Brienne says, remembering the day long ago when she and Jaime talked about the wedding that had been set up for him and Baroness Cersei. Jaime didn’t need Brienne’s instructions in order to cancel on his own the ceremony and the venue and, although they haven’t even mentioned it again, they both know that if it’s meant to happen, there won’t be any weddings until Selwyn’s made a full recovery. 

That, of course, she cannot tell her father. He’d insist on the wedding taking place immediately, disregarding his recovery, forbidding them from making such big of a deal out of his condition that they should feel the need to postpone the wedding. And Brienne couldn’t possibly put her father into such distress. 

“Alright, alright,” chuckles Selwyn. “I believe you’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Frowning at that last part, Brienne turns around to see what her father was pointing at. It was Jaime--mounted on his horse, Kurt. Behind him, there’s Mendel, his reigns tied up to Jaime’s saddle, and he neighs at that moment. 

_It is unfair, _ scowls Brienne, putting down her tea. Jaime looks so damned handsome up in that horse, the sun glimmering in that golden hair of his, bringing out the blue of his eyes. For a second, she’s certain she’s falling head over heels all over again. If she hadn’t confessed her feelings towards the man already, she knows she would surrender right about now. 

“Do you ride?” asks Selwyn, returning her to the present. 

“No, I don’t,” she replies categorically, and when Jaime’s closer, she raises her voice, crossing her arms over her chest. “The answer is no, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Oh, come on,” begs Jaime, stopping just a few feet from the terrace. He flashes his biggest, whitest, smile at her, accompanied by a charming wink. Kurt neighs again and Mendel, following Jaime’s gentle orders, turns to the side, the invitation clear. “He’s been feeling a bit left out since the kids started school. It’ll do him wonders to go out on a little walk. 

“Only because Podrick and Arya are supposed to be punished, doesn’t mean we need to stay indoors all afternoon, too, does it?” 

“Jaime, I’m not--”

“He’s a nice lad, he’ll be gentle with you.”

Realizing she’s facing an unbeatable battle, Brienne sighs deeply, no arguments come to mind against riding that damned horse. She looks over at Selwyn, who was enjoying the show a bit too much, and he raises his arms. 

“You’re not getting out of this one by saying your father did not allow you to go out, honey,” he chuckles. “You’re a grown woman.”

“Well, thank you very much for your help,” scowls Brienne, leaving her seat. 

“You don’t need my help, sweetheart,” he says with an amused voice. 

As Selwyn and Jaime look at her, waiting for her answer, she goes stand at the veranda, arms crossed. Mendel and Kurt have remained quiet and still throughout the conversation, as if to prove Jaime’s words they will be kind to her and no accidents will befall them. Wary, she reaches out a hand and Mendel allows her to pet him on the crin and ears--he remembers her. Against her better judgment, Brienne smiles proudly. 

“What’s it going to be, Miss Tarth?” he asks, overly formal. 

Upon Jaime’s insistence, she realizes she’s got a card up her sleeve. She raises an eyebrow at Jaime, sitting tall on his horse. 

“On one condition.” 

“Whatever it is, I’m in,” Jaime says immediately. 

“Agreeing to a deal without knowing its terms. . . Doesn’t sound like a very smart move coming from a CEE, Mr. Lannister.” 

“I don’t care what it sounds like. I agree,” he says. 

Brienne’s smile grows bigger. “You let the children participate in the Festival this Sunday.” 

“Done,” he says even before she’s finished her statement--leaving her flabbergasted. He frowns in turn upon her shock, a bit surprised that that was her condition. “Of course, they’re singing. I was just teasing them. Did you think I would truly forbid them to?” 

“I wasn’t too sure, to be honest,” confesses Brienne, feeling a bit stupid, now. No one’s gotten used just yet to Jaime having a sense of humor and it’s been quite hard to read him. “And neither are the kids. You should probably tell them with such clear words soon, before they all get anxiety.” 

“I’ll tell them tonight,” he accepts. “Does that mean you’re coming?” 

Brienne looks at Mendel again, biting her lower lip. She just threw out the window her one card out of this one. Of course, she could say no and leave it there, no questions asked, but she’s not so sure she wants to do that. She could pretend it’s only a _quid pro quo_ for all of Jaime’s efforts lately, albeit that would be lying, too. Deep down, _very_ deep down, she’d been waiting for him to ask her. She wanted to ride Mendel again. 

“Fine. Give me ten minutes to go upstairs and change.”

“Oh, no need,” says Jaime, opening his bag and taking Brienne’s riding clothes. “I hope you don’t mind I took these.”

“You were just so certain I would accept, weren’t you?” scoffs Brienne. 

“I’d hoped.” 

Shaking her head upon finally figuring out she had no chance at all from the beginning, Brienne excuses herself so she can change in her father’s room. As she takes off her shirt, she can hear Selwyn asking Jaime about the horses’ names and ages and Jaime tells him all about the horses--but he’s only partially focused on the conversation, for time and time again, she can also feel his eyes on her body through the open windows. Because of that, she emerges with jeans, riding boots, helmet, and a blush on her cheeks. 

“Wonderful,” Jaime says. 

Brienne can’t help but wonder if he’s praising her appropriate wardrobe and footwear or maybe something else altogether, but he doesn’t give her a chance to figure it out. He jumps off his horse and holds on tight to Mendel’s reigns, reaching out his prosthetic to coax Brienne in. Bracing herself for her worst nightmares, she steps forward, descending the steps. 

First win of the day--mounting the damn thing without falling or making a fool out of herself, which would have made Selwyn’s and Jaime’s day. She feels elated by the time she’s sitting on the saddle, although the adventure’s barely begun. 

“Dad, could you keep an eye on Arya and Podrick?” she asks, pretending not to see Jaime mounting his horse so gracefully and elegantly. “They’re supposed to be doing homework.” 

“Gotcha,” Selwyn winks at her, without making any promises that he shouldn’t act as the grandfather figure he technically is. “We’ll be alright, you two go and have fun.” 

“We’ll try,” chuckles Brienne, nervous. 

She had barely realized Jaime had left and was about ten feet away from the Manor already. At his clicking his tongue, Mendel neighs and turns around immediately, prompting a yelp from Brienne at the sudden movement. She waves goodbye at Selwyn over her head, too insecure to look over her shoulder at him, as Mendel follows Jaime’s light stroll. 

“Little warning next time would be much appreciated,” scowls Brienne just as Mendel catches up with Jaime. He, on the other hand, just chuckles, caressing Mendel’s crin. 

“Oh, we’ll be alright, won’t we? This way, come on.”

Letting Jaime lead on this route around the lake, Brienne tries to soothe her nerves and just enjoy the afternoon out with him. Seems like years since they had some time alone, although it was only last weekend, if memory serves right. Even if the circumstances that prompted them both being back home so soon were less than ideal, there was no reason not to benefit from it entirely. And, for the moment, Mendel’s taking it easy with her.

Soon enough, seeing as Mendel’s grown so used to her that he gives her no surprises or heart attacks, she starts to take in her surroundings for the first time. She also takes some minutes to stare at and analyze Jaime’s charisma, of course. He looks so comfortable and confident up there, as if nature was his comfort zone, where he truly belongs. She’s seen his face when he comes back home late in the evening, or whenever Christopher used to bother him with matters of the company back in Vienna, and it was not nice. This is a whole side of Jaime she did not know and is glad she got the chance to know. She would love to tell her father--it is way too soon for any sort of commitments. 

“Are you doing OK?” asks Jaime after a while. 

“Think so, yeah.”

“You look comfortable up there, you know.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jaime.”

“Alright, then. . . Want to make things more interesting?”

“I know I should be scared to say yes,” fears Brienne--the wicked grin on Jaime’s face, without revealing for now his intentions, tells her so. 

“Come on,” he says, spurring his horse on.

Mendel follows suit and next thing Brienne knows, they’re trotting through the fields, Jaime roaring from laughter, Brienne trying to stop her yellings and holding onto Mendel for dear life itself. No, she’s definitely not enjoying the afternoon out anymore. Was Jaime’s plan to kill her off for good? Is that his plan to avoid, in the end, having the kids participating in the Festival? 

Some minutes later, Jaime takes pity on Brienne and slows down, and so does Mendel, finally. At long last, she’s able to catch her breath, sweat tainting her blouse on her back and shoulders. To completely soothe Brienne’s worries, he holds onto Mendel, caressing him, feeling his strong muscles and heartbeat against the sink, praising him for a job well done. This way, Brienne knows she can simmer down without the possibility of an accident. 

“Are you alright?” he asks as he’s petting Mendel. 

“It was just a hunch at the beginning, but you _do_ want to kill me,” scowls Brienne. 

That outburst only makes Jaime chuckle, but he takes a look at her and sees she could really use some rest. He jumps off Kurt’s saddle, ties his reigns on a branch, and walks up to Brienne to help her down. Supporting most of her weight as she descends Mendel, they’re so close together, feeling each other’s breath and breathing each other’s scent, that by the time her feet touch the ground all the worrying and scare flees Brienne’s mind right then and there. Jaime’s eyes sparkle in the afternoon light, barely out of breath, a radiant smile greeting her, knowing he’d completely disarmed her there. For a second, she knows not where she is or what is going on. 

But then he lets her go, he lets the moment go, knowing their conundrum--he’ll never confess so, but he heard part of the conversation Brienne and Selwyn were having there on the terrace. There’s a lot to figure out still and he’s going to give her all the time and space she needs to figure it all out. 

Brienne walks past him to tie Mendel by Kurt’s side and Jaime breathes in as much air as possible. When she’s done with her task, he takes her hand. 

“Come,” he says softly, as if not to disturb the nature around them. 

They’ve stopped a few miles away from the Manor, in front of one abandoned lake house, so he knows they won’t disturb or anger anyone if they step into the harbor. Sitting side by side, their legs entwined almost touching the water’s surface, Jaime tells Brienne about the house’s sad story. Built by a man so in love with his wife who wanted to give her the world, the lake in this case, but she dies from some disease before he could finish it, and he could never bring himself to finish the job. Since then, many buyers have stopped by, promises of rentals, and beneficial gain in mind, but one after the other, they all declined. Some say the couple’s spirit still remain in the area, their house unfinished, their love undying. 

“Is this a romantic or a horror story?”

“Your pick,” says Jaime, shrugging. 

“Well, whatever it is, it’s a shame no one lives here. With such an amazing view. . .”

It truly is a sight to behold. The sun glimmering on the water, the Lannister Mansion in all its splendor across the lake, the breeze messing up their hair and clothes, the branches and leaves dancing with the soft breeze, the birds chirping all around them. She fell in love with it all on her first afternoon here. There’s no wonder Jaime loves it all so much, too. 

“Brienne,” he says then. 

She waits, but for some seconds Jaime doesn’t say another word, as if nervous or worried she’ll judge him for whatever he needs to confess. By taking his hand, she promises she won’t ever do something like that. 

“Do you remember the ball? Herr Zeller and the poignant conversation I had with him right before you went upstairs to change?” 

“About Targaryen Company?” For some bizarre reason, despite everything else that happened that night, Brienne would never be able to forget that conversation. 

“There _is_ going to be a merger,” he says after an awfully long time. “The company’s not doing so good and. . . It hasn’t done good in the last couple of years, to be precise. It’s infuriating and depressing, but we’ve exploited every other resource. The merger. . . It’s the only way I know to save thousands of jobs.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Have you just known?” 

“The possibility’s been on the table for months, now. My Father and I have been putting as strong a fight as we’ve been able to with all our might, but. . . It was just a matter of pride and denial and narcissism. We couldn’t do it to our employees a minute longer.” 

The subject pains Jaime almost on a physical level. He’s got his eyes closed as he speaks, focused on his breathing. Brienne cups his chin and forces Jaime to look at her. She needs to wait for almost a minute until he does open his eyes. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me before?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of, Brinny. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the company. I got my first job there--worked in every damned department, learned the job from the bottom up. I could tell you the names of everyone I ever worked for. 

“And now. . . My life’s work is going down the drains,” he sighs deeply, defeated. “Soon enough the Targaryen girl will take everything my family fought for. I’ve given the company the majority of my adult life, every minute of the day, every late night, every nightmare, and to be honest, it’s depressing thinking it was all in vain. This was supposed to be my children’s future, the family’s future, and I’ve thrown it all down the drain singlehandedly.”

“Maybe I couldn’t have helped, but I wanted to know nonetheless, Jaime. Just like you’ve been doing concerning my father.”

He chuckles, taking her hand against his lips. “You’re a wonder, Brienne, we all know that. You’re just not a miracle worker. This isn’t something you can fix.”

“Okay, maybe music cannot stop the merger, but I am going to say this, because you need to hear it,” insists Brienne. “You’re doing all you can for your company and your family. You’re not a failure and you haven’t brought down the Lannister Empire on your own--I don’t care what your Father says. And, last but not least. . . The kids will be alright. It’s not as if the merger will force us to live under a bridge, I imagine?” 

“No, it’s not _that_ bad a situation,” he chuckles. “But I don’t think we can afford to live in the Lannister lake Mansion.” 

“So we don’t live here,” Brienne concludes. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be alright so long as we’re together.” 

Nodding at Brienne’s words, hoping with all his might and heart that she’s right, Jaime looks out to the lake. Tears appear on the corners of his eyes, but neither acknowledges them, staring at the house he’s lived in all his life and he's now supposed to abandon. After a while, he dries his tears, only to be renewed by new ones.

“Strength in unity,” he nods. “Yeah, Father used to say that.” 

“Well, he got one thing right.”

They fall silent, despite discussing such a worrying matter. Jaime’s got nothing else to add, or else he knows he’ll crumble. And Brienne doesn’t know how else she can comfort him. It’s the first time he’s opening up about the subject altogether. 

There’s time, she tells herself. They’ll have a chance to talk about it. 

But not right now, a voice tells her, as she checks her watch. The kids will get home soon enough, if they haven’t arrived yet. Biting her lip, she ponders the best way of interrupting the moment, when Jaime sighs, his eyes still closed. 

“We should get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter!! :)
> 
> Any thoughts or comments?


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off the previous chapter: Jaime and Brienne out on a ride with the horses, having a heart-to-heart. However, Jaime soon finds out another storm is coming, but this one might not be called Arya. . .

Clasping their hands, they pull each other up, and Jaime takes advantage of that as not to let go of Brienne’s hand as they walk back to the horses. He helps her mount Mendel again and, with a wave of his head, he instructs her she should lead the way back to the house. If her time staying here is limited, she better get to know it all before they have to leave. 

Faster and smoother than Brienne had initially imagined, they get to the stables about half an hour later. The second surprise in a row comes when Brienne manages to descend Mendel all on her own and finds out she’s only a little bit sore after the stroll--might not even feel stiff legs in the morning, if she’s _very_ lucky. 

Jaime takes Mendel’s and Kurt’s reigns to carry them inside, where the other horses welcome them with neighs and yells, demanding their stroll. 

“Another day, boys,” sighs Jaime, leading Mendel into his stall. 

As to start earning her keep around here, Brienne mimics Jaime’s routine filling her horse doze with water and then pours him some food. Mendel starts eating at once, eagerly, after their stroll. In the end, she even dares to pat Mendel on the crin and finds herself smiling. 

By the other stall, gently caressing Kurt, Jaime stares at her, heart in a fist. He knows it was a good idea to push Brienne out of her comfort zone and convince her into riding this afternoon, that radiant and beautiful smile is a testament to it. On the other hand, however, he’s not so certain he should have told her anything about the company. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out before he can bite his tongue. “I shouldn’t have said a word. You’ve got your father to worry about and I’m supposed to ease the burden. . .” 

“Don’t apologize,” says Brienne, stepping out of her stall and meeting him halfway.

“No, I know. It’s a sign--”

“It is _not_ a sign of weakness,” she scowls. “Your Father got that one wrong, too. But, Jaime, we’re together, now. We’re supposed to be able to tell each other this stuff. What worries us, what aches us. . . This is what we’re supposed to share.”

It baffles her that Jaime should need to learn that lesson and, again, she wonders what his relationship with Elsa was like. Of course, she’s no going to beat the man when he’s down with that question, but the fact remains. Judging by what he tells them about Elsa, she was a wonderful, smart, kind woman. How is honesty with one’s partner difficult to comprehend for that man? They’re not talking physics or, Gods forbid, music. 

But she knows, of course. He’s been alone for so long, in charge of seven children who didn’t want to have anything to do with him, focused solely on a struggling company. Swallowing back his pain and worries for the sake of others--well before Elsa died. That scares anyone, indifferently of their sex and age and teachings. 

“Saying it aloud. . . It just makes it horrifyingly real, when I’ve been avoiding the idea for as long as possible,” he says. 

Brienne takes his hand, dragging him into the sun, hoping the light will chase some of the darkness away. 

“Well, now you have me to make it a little less horrifying. I’m here whenever you feel you need to talk.” 

Acknowledging her words, Jaime throws Brienne’s arm over his shoulders, seeking comfort and support. He remains quiet all the way back to the house, however. 

The kids have indeed returned from school, which means Arya and Podrick have already thrown homework out the window. Selwyn managed to keep the eight children in the living room by bribing them with food, although they know the momentary peace won’t last for long. And, worse of all, Gendry points out the fact that Arya and Podrick vanished from school way sooner than they should have. 

“You got in trouble again, Arya?” asks Jon--concern in his voice as he looks at Podrick’s response, which was to blush heavily. 

“What the hell did you do this time?” scowls Sansa. 

Jaime saves the day and spares Arya and Podrick a very difficult time by asking if they’ve already decided what songs they’ll be singing at the Festival. 

The mention of the weekend’s Festival and the implicit promise of participating causes a dead silence amongst the kids. After the initial shock, exuberant yells of delight raise, overjoyed, celebrating with cheers, applause, and yes, singing. The conversation and arguments last all afternoon, sparing Jaime from talking about the merger and the economical situation of Lannister Co. 

“Are you coming to the Festival too, Mr. Tarth?” Jaime asks later, during dinner. 

“That can be quite a challenge,” chuckles the old man, waving around to signal the chair he’s in and the ever-present nurse Lena. 

“I like challenges, I promise you,” Jaime replies, winking at him across the table. “You should come, as co-director of our little choir.” 

“I don’t think Lena will approve.” 

“Oh, well, if nurse Lena won’t approve.” Jaime ponders for two seconds, but Brienne’s smiling, and so are the kids, knowing exactly what his response will be. He’s not a man who lets other people dictate what he can do, or deter him from doing something he’s resolute to do. “You’re still coming.” 

“Come on, Jaime. I will need a wheelchair, an adapted vehicle, a special seat. . .” 

“All of which we can provide you with,” Jaime promises softly. “The real cruxes of the matter are the following: if you want to go, and if you feel strong enough to spend one evening out at the Festival. If the answers to both those questions are affirmative, you’re coming with the rest of the family. Simple as that.” 

Without any more arguments, Selwyn looks at Brienne, but she shrugs, letting him know he stands alone. She also wants him there, and she hopes he’ll be strong enough to go to Salzburg. 

“Fine,” sighs Selwyn. “I’m coming.” 

“Great,” Jaime approves, looking at Brienne, who’s beaming at him. 

“Great,” Brienne echoes. And with that, all the worries about the Festival are done with and the family enjoys the rest of the dinner. 

Talking about the merger and the company with Brienne helped, confesses Jaime to himself while he lies awake on his bed--alone again, for Brienne chose to remain in her father’s chambers. He’s tried to tackle some work, but he fears he didn’t get much done. It’s very difficult to focus on work stuff when there’s a voice inside his head telling him time and time again that he failed his company and his family miserably. 

But, sooner or later, reality kicks back in. In the morning, he needs to put his suit back on and head to the company, pretending that they’re just as strong and powerful and influential a company as they once were. His father used to say he shouldn’t concern himself with the opinions of the sheep, a sentence that became a prayer back when Tyrion absconded his rightful place in the Lannister Empire, and all sorts of rumors filled the news for weeks on end. That catchphrase, however, is supposed to be used in all of these meetings, where he needs not only to pretend everything’s fine, but also make the clients believe the lie, which is the real tricky issue, here--he can lie to himself all he wants, but cannot convince others. The pressure is that much harder knowing that his father is also stuck in meeting after meeting, only two floors up. 

Yeah, so it’s been one of those weeks he can’t wait to move past from and erase from his memory. He’s looking forward to the Festival and the kids singing, of course, he is, and without a doubt, every night, in his commute from work, his humor improves knowing that Brienne is at the Manor and not in Vienna. He should be happy, ecstatic, just as the kids are, but he finds that he cannot muster the strength, not this week, not with Tywin around. 

His Father always travels to Salzburg for the Festival, although spending a few more days for important meetings. He thanks Tyrion for not telling Brienne or the kids about Tywin, who prefers to spend four days in the quiet and isolation of a hotel room instead of staying with his family. It works out, either way, for Jaime wouldn’t have invited him over to the Manor if he had mentioned the idea. The family is far better off not knowing anything about Tywin and not meddling with his oh-so-important business matters. 

In the midst of the meeting through videocall, Christopher walks in and Jaime hides the tension from his face and body--the chauffeur never interrupts his meetings, so there’s got to be one hell of a reason. 

And by Gods, there is. He did the right thing interrupting, leaning by the waist, and whispering a single sentence into his ear, a statement he has a very hard time believing. Jaime needs all of his focus and strength not to yell or jump off the chair, but he does break out a sweat. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to call you back in a few minutes,” he says, barely realizing if he’s interjected Mr. Rutherford or not--he couldn’t really pay any attention anymore. He stands, buttoning his jacket. “I’m terribly sorry.”

His voice left no room for arguing and he hangs up the videoconference. Christoph steps aside to let him out of the office first, his face worried. 

“Where?” 

“Upstairs, sir,” he says, which translates into, Tywin’s office. This time, Jaime does let out a growl, wondering how on Earth did this happen. There are cameras and security guards everywhere in this forsaken building, how come no one acted before? Christoph holds the office door open and Margaret, as professional as ever, was holding out the elevator for him--the one that only accesses the upper floors, so no one was waiting to use it desperately either way, except for him. 

As soon as the doors open, two floors up, Jaime almost jogs across the floor, Christopher struggling to tail him. Lauren, Tywin’s secretary, is standing as well behind her desk, all flustered while looking at the open door of the office, a phone in her hands. 

“Security’s coming,” she stutters upon seeing Jaime stepping in. 

“Call them off!!” orders Jaime, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Inside, he doesn’t have time to catch his breath, for there’s another argument that’s broken up in the office--and, much worse, also in front of very important and wealthy clients. They’re almost as shocked as he is to see Brienne here. Not only that, she’s effectively screaming at Tywin. 

“You say you care for your family, but you don’t even know what family is! When was the last time you ever saw your grandchildren or spoke to them? When did you last have some sort of real conversation with your son that didn’t involve work?” she’s demanding then. 

“Brinny,” he whispers. 

Why is she here? How did she find out about Tywin and how did she get through all the security checkpoints to get up here? What makes her believe she could talk reason into his father, of all people? What in the world crossed her mind for her to spontaneously decide to do this? 

The man in question, standing in the middle of the office, is listening calmly to her shrieks and accusations, a smug smile on his lips. In the meantime, the five clients seated on the couches look so uncomfortable in the midst of the brawl, they wish the Gods would take them right then and there. 

“You have absolutely no idea how strong and smart a person your son is,” Brienne keeps saying. “He could help you and this company much, much more, if you only sat down and listened!”

“Brinny,” Jaime insists, stepping closer. She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Tywin. 

The fire and fierceness in her eyes freeze Jaime momentarily. He’s not surprised anymore that Tywin couldn’t get her out of the office and the building from the beginning. 

Knowing there’s no taking Brienne out of the office in the next few minutes, Jaime turns to the other matter at hand, which he can deal with: reducing the damage. Putting on a fake smile and bending by the waist, he addresses the five men seated on the couches. 

“Gentlemen,” he begs, getting the door open for them. They all gather their papers and jump off their seats at the opportunity to leave. “I apologize for the inconvenience. Talk to Lauren about rearranging a meeting--” 

They shut the door before he finishes the sentence, a statement of their willingness to reschedule. If things were bad this morning, they just got a whole of a lot worse, sighs Jaime, caressing his temples, if they’ve lost five clients in one morning. 

He looks up, realizing he’s the center of attention now, the tension frizzling the atmosphere in here. Tywin’s waiting to see what he's going to do next and the look on Brienne’s face tells him it’s a lost battle, to begin with. 

“Brinny--” she interjects him after that one word. 

“No, Jaime. He _needs_ to hear it.”

_It’s probably a very bad idea, _ Jaime reflects, but heck, she’s never been good at following orders, and commanding her to leave the office is the last thing he’d do here. Maybe her stubbornness stems from the fact that she could change him, Jaime sighs, dropping back, but there’s no way in Hell she gets through Tywin as well. She can stand there and yell at him for days on end, bring in her music, use her most compelling arguments, and they will get nowhere. 

It is proven so by the mildly amused look on Tywin's eyes when Brienne faces him again.

“Proceed, Miss--?” 

“You bloody well know who she is,” scowls Jaime, albeit he was trying not to get in the way, he will not let him insult her in that way. He’s known about Brienne ever since the day Jaime broke off his engagement with Cersei--his detectives work fast and diligently. 

“What were you saying, Miss Tarth? That I need to listen to my son? I already have counselors, thank you very much.”

“You must listen to me too!” commands Brienne, slamming her foot against the floor. 

At that, Jaime takes one step closer, just in case. He’s not afraid Tywin or Brienne would engage in a physical fight--they’re both too smart and outspoken for that--but Tywin can get on people’s nerves easily. He certainly does so with Jaime. 

“Listen. When I first met your son, he was just like you. A businessman, nothing more. The Company was his first and almost only priority.” 

“Sounds like a son I lost,” Tywin interjects. Jaime knows better than to show the hurt in his eyes and, luckily for everybody, Brienne keeps her speech as if she’d heard nothing. 

“But he saw reason. It took him a while to understand. Money, material things. . . They’re not what we leave behind. They’re not the most important things in our lives.”

“You’re going to tell me that family is?” 

“That’s right! If it’s not for your family, your Empire means nothing! All your work means nothing! Your fortune isn’t worth a dime and this building is just a bunch of bricks piled up! 

“Family is what gives meaning to it all.” 

_“Bravo!”_ approves Tywin, applauding Brienne’s speech. They both know he meant that sarcastically and for the first time throughout the argument, Jaime sees Brienne closing her hands to the sides. “Well said, Miss Tarth, very well said. I commend your sense of family and belonging even though you were never married--” 

“Father,” scowls Jaime, astonished. 

“--And your son’s biological father is an incurable alcoholic,” Tywin keeps going, unaware, perhaps, of the consequences of his words. Or so Jaime hopes, but it’s nothing like that. “And you’re not even going to marry my son, so what’s family _to you,_ Miss Tarth?” 

“Stop it, Father,” Jaime scowls. 

He’s now seeing the truth in Tywin’s eyes: he knows exactly what he’s doing, the impact of his words. Jaime had never before been on the receiving end of his Machiavellian plots and he’s outraged and ashamed in Brienne’s stead, who’s completely at a loss for words. He’d never thought, not even in his wildest dreams, would he have imagined Tywin would order research done on Brienne. He wishes he could defend her, but arguments fail him and his only plan is to get her away from Tywin. Right now. 

He takes Brienne’s arm to finally drag her out of here, all too late. Should have done so the minute he came in, without letting Brienne take part in an argument he _knew_ she had no chance of winning. He knew this would end badly for them and Tywin would emerge the victor, as usual. 

“How do you call yourself a decent man?” Brienne scowls, using a tone and a language Jaime’s very rarely ever heard coming from her--she's hurt. Really hurt. By Gods, what has he done? How has he allowed this to happen? Maybe he _is_ as bad a person as his Father if he couldn’t prevent _this_ meeting from occurring. If he couldn't protect Brienne from his Father the way he’s tried to protect the kids from their grandfather. Even though Brienne didn’t help him one bit in the battle. 

“Screw you, Father,” he scowls just before he slams the door shut. Christopher, who was standing by the entrance, steps forward, arms stretched, as if doubtful of who he’s supposed to assist. 

“Hold on, I’m not fini--” Brienne begs, struggling in Jaime’s arms as he tries to drag her away across the hall. 

“You are _most definitely_ done,” says Jaime. 

He exchanges one look with Lauren to tell her everything’s good now, although that’s not really true, and also with Christopher so he calls the elevator, but he had already stopped it on the floor and they can begin their descend right away. When the doors close, he releases Brienne and they stand on opposite sides of the small cubicle, not saying a word, Christopher awkwardly standing between them. 

Afterwards, Jaime leads her directly to his office, and, once more, the driver gives them privacy and stays behind. 

Helping her sit on a couch, Jaime pours them both a glass of water. They’re both panting a bit, mildly scared--mildly aroused, in Jaime’s case, being completely honest here. If he’d been asked, he would have advised against that forsaken confrontation, but of course, no one on Earth can stop such a stubborn force like Brienne when she sets her mind to something. 

Still unable to talk or analyze what’s just happened, they keep quiet, Brienne on a couch, Jaime sitting on the desk. 

“I should go back there and--” 

“No,” Jaime almost growls. That right there was his worst nightmare and he will not let it occur again--one does seldom need to face his own demons, and now he knows for a fact it won’t happen ever again. He doesn’t want Brienne anywhere near Tywin again. He suffered three heart attacks throughout the argument. He’d lose his good hand a thousand times if that could turn back time and avoid Brienne that unpleasant meeting. 

She takes a sip of her drink and then makes a face, surprised to see plain, old water in her glass. 

“Don’t you have anything stronger?” she demands. 

Nodding, not at all surprised by the request after that brawl upstairs, Jaime goes over to the cabinet, takes a bottle of Vodka and two more glasses, and delivers the drink right on Brienne’s hand. This time, he sits down at the armchair of the couch across from her. 

“So. . . Now you've met my kind, darling Father,” he says, prompting a roar of deafening laughter from Brienne, which tells him everything will be fine, in time. 

_Gods, how can families be so different?_ he almost scowls. He had it easy, truly, meeting Selwyn, who literally opened his arms to him on their first meeting, after what he did to his daughter for weeks on end. Brienne had the misfortune of having a horrible father-in-law. 

“Brinny, what possessed you--?” 

“I had to say it. He cannot keep thinking he’s a wonderful father,” Brienne sighs. “I didn’t know it would go so horribly. I apologize--” 

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Jaime interjects. Gods, he should be the one apologizing here. He should have been more careful. Tywin only stays in Salzburg for less than two weeks a year, and he couldn’t prevent Brienne from finding out the man was here and stopping her from doing what she believed was right? “And not because it may be a sign of weakness. You only did what you thought you had to do. You had no idea what would happen.” 

“Give me one more chance--” 

“There will be no more chances, no encores, no bargains, no petitions,” growls Jaime, drinking his Vodka. “You’ve given it your best shot, now you’ll stay as far away from my Father as possible. You will never get through his skull.” 

“Same way as getting through _your_ skull was impossible?” 

At that, Jaime sighs deeply and stands, returning to his desk and sitting on his chair. He does not want Brienne facing Tywin ever again. He’s sure his Father has got many more cards up his sleeve. Of course, Brienne does too, but it would be an ever-ending argument. He will not allow her to spend her breath and time with Tywin. It’s useless. 

“You’ve had the misfortune of meeting my dearest Father,” he says--a meeting he would have loved to avoid at all costs in the first place. “Count yourself lucky that he won’t wish to see you ever again.” 

“Well, there are a few things left I’d like to say to him. . . ” 

“I’m sure there are. Unfortunately or not, you’ll never be able to say those things.” 

Seeing Jaime so crestfallen, so dispirited after the conversation upstairs, makes Brienne deflate, hurting him further the last thing in her mind. Shoulders dropped, he turns his chair to look out to the city, fighting the urge of going back upstairs and doing something he'd truly regret, something that would be detrimental to the Company in so many ways that they'd never recover. At that moment, Brienne realizes he truly never meant for her to meet Tywin--she now understands why. And although she appreciates him caring so much for her, Jaime shouldn't have kept her away from Tywin in this manner. 

“He is a monster, you know,” she says. She stands, goes around the desk, and leans on the table, forcing Jaime to turn his chair a bit to see her. 

“To you, I’m sure,” nods Jaime. 

“I meant to you,” she says, caressing his hair with her free hand. “And to your grandchildren. He’s not the perfect example of a loving and caring Father.” 

“But he is the perfect example of a businessman, Brinny. You have to understand that. Over four generations, we created one of the biggest Empires in the city. Hearts and flowers wouldn’t have helped to expand Lannister Company. It’s as simple as that. As frightening and horrible as that. Love and care were never needed in the equation.”

“Tyrion was right to oppose his place in the Empire,” sighs Brienne. 

“Yeah, I can see that, now. It’s too late for me, I’m afraid.”

She moves the chair away from the desk with her foot and sits on his lap, although there are plenty of seats available. 

“It’s really not.” 

“Come on, Brienne,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “The Company is already going down the drains and you suggest I bail out on everybody who depends on me? I cannot do that. Maybe in a couple of years, if Lannister Co. is no longer, I might consider a career change. Not right now.” 

“I won’t let you forget those words.” 

“I know you won’t.”

At that moment, his lips crash into hers. He just couldn’t hold out anymore. Maybe he should have thought of stopping her earlier quarrel with Tywin with a simple enough kiss. That would have been a blow for his father. 

“Gods, Brienne, you’re--” He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence and just kisses her again. This time around, she responds, leaning on his touch. “There are no words. You’ve turned my world upside down. . . I can’t believe I would be in a meaningless marriage right now, with seven children I didn’t know, if it hadn’t been for you. I just. . . I love you so much.” 

“You know, for someone who just said is at a loss for words, you’re talking too much,” chuckles Brienne. 

Without prior warning, Jaime takes Brienne into his arms and carries her to the desk, throwing away some folders and papers and helping her rest on her back. She yelps at the sudden movement, staring through cautious eyes at Jaime towering over her while he rolls her stockings down. 

“What’re you doing?” she whispers. 

“What you just told me to do: acting versus talking.” He wants to make her forget all about Tywin--make himself forget about him, too, if at all possible. He'd do anything within his power to erase Tywin Lannister and his words and attacks from Brienne's memory. That's impossible, of course, so he settles for compensation. Making up for everything his Father said, for the way he abused and mistreated Brienne and, ultimately, for all the ways where _he_ hurt Brienne, directly or not. This one included. 

“I’m sure I didn’t mean _this!”_ Brienne explodes in a laughter fit. 

In an attempt to stop him, she rests her foot on his chest, but he just misinterprets her goal and takes off her shoes and stockings. She yelps, but Jaime swallows her mild complaints in a deep and long kiss. At that moment, Brienne’s lost for thoughts and words and cannot figure out why she was whining so much two seconds ago. 

Pulling back, Jaime kisses the side of her neck, while unbuttoning her shirt. 

“You really have no idea how many times have I thought of having you like this. . .” he whispers, his low and deep and passionate voice making her insides twirl. “Half-naked on my study in my office. . .” 

“I think I’m getting an estimated number,” she chuckles, but next thing she knows, Jaime’s opening her shirt, taking in the view, and she blushes deeply, wishing she could hide. 

“I would lose my head if my Father saw me right now,” he scowls, working his way onto her breasts. 

The mention of Tywin Lannister makes Brienne remember where they are, and she looks around, fearing Jaime’s father would pop up in here right then. 

“Jaime, we cannot do this.” 

“I say we can,” he replies. She tries pulling his face and his tongue away from her skin, creating goosebumps all over her, but he’s relentless. “This is my office, after all.”

“And that’s my point! Anyone can walk in here--” 

He ceases her complaints with a kiss and bites her lower lip, which leaves her effectively without breath. He then pulls away and winks at her, before pressing a button on the intercom. 

“Margaret, don’t put through any calls and do not let in any visitors,” he instructs. “I’ll let you know when I’m available.”

“Of course, sir,” the secretary agrees too easily. 

Brienne rolls her eyes at him, knowing that whatever measures he took, making out in his office is a very bad move. But the looks on both their faces disagree. 

“And now that _that’s_ taken care of. . .” 

With a mischievous grin, Jaime gives Brienne his sole attention now, pulling her shirt to kiss her stomach and revealed skin. All of her original complaints gone now, she lets out a low groan, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, although she’s not patient enough to get all the way down and takes his shirt off midway through the collar. In the meantime, Jaime already has two fingers inside of her and she’s biting her lower lip to swallow the moans of pleasure Margaret could easily hear. 

Jaime kisses her and she opens her mouth to give him full access, but he then pulls away. 

“Hey. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.” 

His fingers in her were still moving and working, filling her completely, building her pleasure, and against her better judgment, she complies with his plea. 

She was aching almost as much as Jaime himself. For the sake of the children and the family, they’ve kept each other at arm’s length and that’s almost inconceivable at the beginning of any ordinary relationship--it’s a wonder the ticking bomb didn’t explode much earlier. Well, they fix it right then and there, everything else be damned at that precise moment in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word to the wise, I've changed the tags and the Archive Warnings, in case this isn't truly really your cup of tea and would prefer to skip the rest of the story altogether :) I would have pointed it out earlier but I truly didn't know where I was headed _exactly_ with this story until I was in the middle of it, so here we are now, like 20 chapters beyond what I'd originally than planned ! 
> 
> Thank you for reading ! :)


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